


Pawn and Gambit

by NuMo



Series: Chrysalis [4]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Cameo by your favorite Examiners of Metaphysical Phenomena, Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Kid Fic, Not Canon Compliant, Post S3, minuscule amounts of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11398227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: Helena and Myka discover not only the upsides and downsides to being caregivers for a child, but also what happened to that child's birth mother.Apologies that it has taken me this long to finally write this last installment of the Chrysalis Series, and thank you for your patience. If you're new to the series, please read the other installments first. You can find themhere. You can find an extremely short summary of the first three parts in the notes.This is the last installment in this series.A ton of thanks goes to my beta reader,Faerirose. THANK YOU.





	1. Chapter 1 (March 23, 2013)

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely short summary of the first three parts: 
> 
> \- while keeping the Astrolabe hidden, Helena encounters a woman who has an artifact on her that allows her to look into someone's emotions and interact with them  
> \- that woman, Laura, volunteers to use the Astrolabe a second time to keep Artie from releasing the Sweating Sickness. She succeeds and now carries both the Evil created by her use of the Astrolabe and Artie's Evil through the artifact she has on her.  
> \- she leaves an envelope for Helena to give to an institution in Cologne, Germany. When Helena (with Myka's help) does that, it turns out that Laura pronounced Helena and Myka to be the legal guardians of her daughter, Livia  
> \- Helena and Myka try to come to terms with the fact that they're now fostering a four-year-old child and that they're actually in a relationship with each other  
> \- a few months later, they learn from Mrs. Frederic that Laura's Evils were taken care of and that Laura has asked for her memories to be erased by using the Janus Coin. Laura doesn't remember her involvement with the Warehouse and doesn't remember having a daughter.

“She what?!” Myka yelled into her phone, hurrying towards a window of Calgary’s Concourse E in order to get better reception. 

“Myka, please calm down,” Helena’s voice came from the speaker pressed to Myka’s ear. “Livia …,” there was a rush of static that did nothing for Myka’s composure, “while climbing Leena’s apple tree, and … her … alright … Doctor Black Elk … and we’re already back…”

“Helena, I can’t hear you! The reception is awful, and I’m… I…” Myka fought for breath. Helena’s voice didn’t sound too concerned, but the words that Myka could make out through the static, after the initial ‘fell out of a tree’, really weren’t too comforting. She looked around wildly, and found what she was looking for. “Payphone! Thank God! I, I, uh, I’ll call you back in a moment, Helena, okay?”

Through more white noise, Myka thought she could make out some form of acceptance or other, so she finished the call, fingers digging through her wallet for change. Payphones! She was happy they still existed in this day and age, but seriously, coin operated ones? She’d stopped collecting quarters ages ago, and she’d need Canadian quarters anyway, wouldn’t she? 

“Here,” Pete said as he stepped up to her, arm outstretched. 

Myka held out her hand, and he dropped a fistful of Canadian coins into it. Pete didn’t say anything else, reading his partner’s frantic movements well enough to keep his distance while Myka punched Helena’s number into the keypad.

“Tell me _exactly_ what happened,” were Myka’s first words when the line connected. 

“Myka, everything is fine,” Helena said, and Myka clenched her teeth. Doctor Black Elk, Univille’s new resident medical practitioner, had been mentioned in the same sentence as Livia. Nothing, _nothing_ was … ‘ _fine_.’ “Livia climbed Leena’s apple tree – the short one, you remember, right?” There was a pause, Helena was apparently waiting for confirmation, but Myka was doing her best not to yell again, and didn’t trust her voice to produce anything like a calm ‘yes’, even if she did indeed remember. And yes, that tree was barely taller than a human, but Livia had needed to be seen by a doc- “She lost her grip when she was coming back down,” Helena continued, still sounding far too calm for Myka’s peace of mind, “and twisted her ankle when she hit the ground.” Myka choked, but Helena obviously didn’t hear it, going on with, “She’s fine now, sporting a brace and Batman crutches and sleeping off the pain medication and the ice cream sundae that she got for being a good sport in the doctor’s office.”

There was a stretch of silence, and Myka suddenly noticed Pete’s hand on her back and remembered to breathe. 

“Myka?” Now Helena sounded concerned. “Hello? Did the line-”

“She-,” Myka yelped, cleared her throat, tried again, “you…”

“Myka, what’s wrong?” Helena asked, sounding truly anxious now.

“Why the _hell_ did you let her climb a tree, Helena?!”

“Myka, I assure you I-,”

“ _Anything_ could have happened to her, Helena! Anything!! I don’t care that it was Leena’s tree! She could’ve…” Myka fought for breath, cursing the air that was too thick to breathe, cursing the artifact that had sent them to the depths of the Southern Canadian Rockies, cursing the six-hour, one-layover flight she and Pete faced, cursing the three-hour car trip they had to make after touchdown, cursing- “What the hell were you thinking, Helena? I would’ve thought that _you_ of all people-,” the line went dead. “Helena?! Don’t you _dare_ hang up on-” 

“Uh, Mykes?” Pete said, sounding tentative, “I think it’s just that your money ran out. And I’m all outta pretty cash here, sorry.” His voice sounded even smaller when he added, “besides, Myka, I’m not exactly sure if it’s fair of you to jump down H.G.’s throat like-”

“Aaagh!” Myka yelled as she slammed the receiver back into its hook and rounded on her partner. “Don’t you start, Pete!” She raised both hands as if to strangle the air. “We’ve talked about it often enough, how she’ll let Livia do dangerous things-,”

“Things that _you_ think are dangerous, Myka,” Pete had the nerve to interrupt, as if he wasn’t standing right where she needed to move her hands only inches to actually physically strangle him. “Kid’s gotta-,”

“Shut up, Pete,” she grated, still trying to find enough oxygen to get her brain to process this properly. 

“ _No,_ Myka,” he replied, sounding exasperated. “Livia is a kid who needs to run around, _do_ things, go on swings, y’know? Climbing trees is… it’s just the next step, and seriously, that tiny little skimpy thing in the orchard barely even qualifies as a tree, and I’m sure H.G. was standing right next to her the whole time, and Myka, you seriously,” he caught Myka’s hands and looked at her intently, “ _seriously_ need to take a breath sometimes, and let the kid be herself.” He stepped a bit closer. “Hey, really though, take a breath. Myka. Take. A breath.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then sucked air into lungs that protested sharply, diaphragm and abdominal muscles reluctantly expanding. 

“Good job,” Pete murmured. “Mykes, hey, I _know_ that you want to… to do right by Livia. I totally get that, what with your dad and, and your perfectionism, and Helena’s kid, and all.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “But you really need to relax, you know. Falling from trees happens with a kid like that. I did it all the time, even sliced my leg open one time, on a-”

“Not helping, Pete,” Myka mumbled into his shoulder, shuddering.

“Sorry,” he said immediately. “But I’m still here, right? I learned to gauge things right, and so will she.” He squeezed her shoulders briefly. “So Livia’s not the book-reading kinda gal, not like you were. And she’s not the tea-party-with-her-dolls kinda gal, like Christina was, and who even knows what kinda gal H.G. was as a kid. But if you want her to learn to handle her stuff, you gotta let her _do_ her stuff, you know?”

“Helena or Livia?” Myka asked grouchily, and he huffed a laugh. 

“Both of them, Mykes.” She could feel him lift his head when an announcement rang through the concourse, and then could feel his sigh. “That’s us. Last call. Which sucks, because you totally should call her again and tell her you’re sorry-,”

“ _I’m_ sorry? Why should I… Pete, _she_ -,” and then the words that she’d flung at Helena before the line went dead came back to hit Myka like a boomerang. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh… my god. Pete, I… shit, Pete.” Frantic again, she dug out her phone, and groaned when she saw “no reception” on its screen. And Helena still didn’t have a Farnswor- “Claudia!” she yelled, searching her purse for the ersatz phone, and feverishly punched the buttons to make the connection the moment she flipped it open. 

“Myka – _not_ a good moment,” Claudia said immediately when she appeared on the screen. Myka winced. 

“Is Helena with you?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Yes.” Claudia’s short reply left no doubt that the young agent knew what had happened and disapproved. 

“Please, Claud, can you put her o-,”

“Jeez, Myka? Are you for real? After what you just-” Claudia broke off, shook her head, and sighed. “Look, right now? You and H.G. talking? Not a good idea. So here’s what I’ll do, okay? I’ll tell her you’re sorry _if_ you convince me that you are. I’ll even ask her to hold off breaking things until you’re here and the two of you can talk in person, y’know, calm and grown-up and everything. But that’s it, and you better start the ‘apologies assemble!’ right away; you’re gonna need them.”

“I’m sorry, Claudia. I am. Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I totally said the wrong thing and I know it, and-,” there was another announcement, and Pete tugging on her arm, and there _was_ something wrong with the air in here, there had to be, “Claudia, please, _please_ tell Helena that I know that I messed up, that I’m sorry, and that I will apologize again in person, but our flight has been called and I need to board and-”

“Breathe, Myka!” Pete called, still pulling her along. 

“Okay,” Claudia said, still stony-faced. “I’ll tell her. Safe trip home, ‘kay?”

* * *

Returning to the B&B had never felt so nerve-wracking, Myka thought. The fact that it was three in the morning didn’t help, either. Pete had been able to sleep on the plane, and part of Myka was glad about that, because he’d be a better driver for it. Another part of her had wanted to strangle him all over again, him and his snoring. How, just _how_ could he even sleep, after-? They hadn’t spoken much in the car, not after Pete had told Myka that she was in the deepest mess of doo-doo he had ever seen her in, and Myka had snapped at him to either contribute something helpful or shut up. And yet another part of her had been instantly sorry, but the rest of her had been too tired to knock together an apology for him when all she wanted to do was perfect her apology to Helena. So she had stayed quiet, and had resented the way he’d looked at her, as if her lashing out at him was understandable, acceptable, and even remotely okay. 

She wondered if Helena was even awake anymore, one minute hoping that she wasn’t, because that would mean Helena had found enough peace of mind to actually fall asleep, next minute hoping that she was, because that would mean Myka could talk to Helena sooner rather than later. Myka had no idea how she herself would find sleep or where she would even go to seek it. She couldn’t fathom simply opening the door to their shared room and walking over to their shared bed. She was not certain was the better option: finding Helena asleep in it, finding Helena awake in it, or not finding Helena in it at all. 

When Pete stopped the car and killed the engine, he sighed deeply. “Mykes?”

“Yes?” She was glad she sounded only tired. She didn’t want to aggravate him, make things worse than they already were. 

“I know I’m not an expert in… y’know, relationships and all?” He scratched the back of his head. “Just… I guess… just don’t forget the larger picture, okay?”

“Larger picture?” She was too tired to even try to make sense of his words. 

She almost laughed when he started ticking items off his fingers. “Livia is okay, H.G. loves her, she loves you, you love her, you love Livia, and Livia loves both of you.” He looked at her expectantly.

Myka sighed now, almost as expansively as he just had. “I know, Pete. It’s just that that’s not all that the larger picture holds, is it? There’s also that bit where Helena has lost her daughter and has beaten herself up for that more years than any of us have been alive, and that bit where I’m too scared to trust anyone but myself to-,”

“Hey _hey_ hey,” Pete sang softly, and grinned at her. “I’m not the one you should be telling all these things, you know.”

She rolled her eyes and, fighting gravity, pulled up an arm and cuffed his shoulder. 

“Laaaame,” he complained, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “You’re not bringing your A game, agent,” he said as he walked around the hood. “I guess you’re saving that for your fabulous English guardian partn-”

“Shut it, Pete,” Myka groaned, and peeled herself out of the car, surprised when she landed in a tight Pete-hug. 

“It’ll be okay, alright?” he whispered. “You got this. I know you do.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Myka took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“Appreciate it,” he grinned quickly, “but really, save it for the Victorian chick. Unless you’re practicing, then…” he spread his arms in a grand gesture, “be my guest.”

The punch Myka landed on his shoulder as she walked by him was more of a swat, if that. _Laaaame_. She took a deep breath and raised her chin as she approached the door.

* * *

Helena had taken her pacing from the living room to the room she shared with Myka after Claudia had pointedly met her eyes downstairs. Helena was not too content with pacing in the much smaller space since it only afforded her three paces instead of seven or eight, but it would have to do. Moving helped her think; that had always been the case, even before the Bronze. More than a century of not being able to twitch so much as a muscle, much less actually pace any length of room, had killed any desire Helena might at some point have had to contemplate things while motionless. When she was still, her thoughts tended to run in circles; when she paced, they moved forward, toward a solution. 

She was glad Claudia had immediately told her that Myka had realized how wrong her words had been. It helped Helena concentrate on parsing her emotions with a mind to overcome this, not with a mind seething with resentment or bent on proving that she had not been at fault.

It had been a beautiful day, and Livia’s fifth birthday to boot. Livia had greatly enjoyed her special breakfast of pancakes with chocolate syrup, courtesy of Artie (who had promptly excused himself afterwards; both he and Steve had found a sugar-pumped Livia too much to handle and had, therefore, retreated to the Warehouse for inventory). An improbably blazing sun in a blue sky, and a rare warm spell after rain that had seemed endless to an almost-five-year-old, both had thwarted any attempt Helena might otherwise have made to keep Livia inside. The child had an urge for motion, a bottomless amount of energy, and the willpower to wear down the staunchest of convictions that March 23rd was no time to be outside, much less climbing trees. 

So the bark had been wet, but the tree was barely as tall as Helena. It had been grafted and pruned to grow at a height convenient for picking its fruit, and the lowest limbs branched off the trunk even below her hip. Soft green grass below it, sodden with a week of rain, further perfected its suitability for a young child’s first attempt at climbing on this important day. Claudia had been present, too, camera pressed to her face as always to record this monumental development; they both had been looking forward to showing Myka the footage, proof that Livia had mastered yet another activity. 

Instead the morning had ended in a doctor’s office. Looking back on those hours now, Helena recognized that Claudia’s presence had been invaluable, had helped Helena to keep calm, think rationally, do what needed to be done. It had come as quite a shock when, later in the afternoon, the young woman had told Helena that for her, Helena’s presence had had the same effect. Helena had laughed at it, quite breathlessly, before explaining what she found so funny. When Claudia had joined her laughter, they both had sounded a bit too agitated, a bit too frenzied, as people will when the adrenaline wears off. 

Truth to tell, Helena had been petrified from the moment Livia’s squeal announced that something was wrong, and truth to tell, the terror that had filled her had only abated, not vanished completely, for all that it was long past midnight by now. And it had not mattered to her, either, how tall or short the tree had been, how soft the grass, how diligent the adults; not right then, not as it happened. Myka had not been the first one to tell Helena “she could’ve...” – Helena herself had done that all day, and then some. 

As to what the hell she had been thinking – that was easier, at least. Helena had hoped – and she knew that Myka had, as well – that Livia would turn out to be a gentle child, like her Christina had been, or a bookish child, like Myka had been. As luck (obviously, Helena thought bitterly) would have it, though, Livia was rambunctious, tumultuous, wild; a child more given to running than sitting, a child with energy enough to occupy several adults at any one time, a child that developed cabin fever after what felt like five minutes of sitting still, except for precious story time. 

Both Helena and Myka had found this a challenge, and both were extraordinarily grateful for having the possibility to share their caregiving duties not just between the two of them, but with the rest of their Warehouse family. Pete, especially, and also Trailer the dog, were always ready for pillow-fights, ‘police’ chases, ball games, and other activities that involved running and shouting at full tilt. Both Helena and Myka had realized that encountering a scare for Livia’s life was practically a given if they did not want to tie the child down, curb her movements, or restrict her enthusiasm – and they did not want that at all. 

It was one thing to resign oneself to such a certainty, however, and quite another to actually be present when it happened. Helena’s hands were still shaking even now, more than half a day after the fall. They had been steady on Livia’s body as Helena searched for broken bones, steady around the child’s waist as Helena had carried her to the car, steady in the doctor’s office as Helena had consoled Livia during the painful examination. On their way back, though, with Livia asleep with pain medication and exhaustion, they had shaken too much to even operate the belt buckle, and had, like Helena’s terror, only abated, not stopped. 

And then, after they had come home and transferred Livia to her bed, Claudia Donovan had given words to what Helena had been thinking, too, stating that she should call Myka, keeping with their policy of talking with each other, of not keeping important things from each other, of keeping everyone ‘in the loop.’

Helena had dreaded the call, but for the life of her she had not expected what Myka had spat at her before their call had been disconnected. Claudia, moments later, had explained payphones to her, and had helped Helena think her way through what had just transpired. 

Then, “Dude,” Claudia had said in that inimitable way of hers, “Myka was like that long before Livia, before you, hell, even before Pete. This isn’t about what you should or shouldn’t have done, you know that, right?”

Helena had thought about that for a while, and then had nodded. “I think I do, yes. Myka has told me about her perfectionist tendencies, has told me that her deepest fear mirrors what I experienced with my Christina – to not be there to save her, to not be able to do anything. We both knew that it would happen someday – we knew it was a question of when, not if, and which of us it would happen to first.” She had taken a deep breath. “Thank you, Claudia, for reminding me of that.”

“Sure, sure,” the red hair, streaked with teal today, had bobbed and curtained Claudia’s face as she had ducked her head. “Just… it’s okay to be mad at what Myka said. ‘Cuz no matter how scared she was, that was not okay of her to say. You know that, too, don’t you?”

Again, Helena had nodded. She had not replied that it did hurt, that she was angry and upset and in pain. Helena was certain that Claudia could see the wound Myka’s words had wrought plain as day, etched on Helena’s face as it probably was. She had been more than relieved when Claudia had volunteered to contact Steve and Artie – Helena knew she would have cracked upon reliving, even only through retelling, what had happened.

Helena was aware that Myka’s words had come from a place of fear, of the abject terror of hearing that your child was hurt, and you were nowhere near to help. It did not excuse them, but it did offer explanation, and thus helped her examine the pain they had caused in different ways than just ‘how dare Myka even insinuate.’ 

Furthermore, Myka had apologized, had realized that her words had been more than uncalled for – if Helena knew her partner at all, that realization had followed the utterance right on its heels. It was unfortunate that their call had dropped right afterwards, fortunate that Myka had remembered to use the Farnsworth to attempt further communication, inalterable that Helena had not been in any mood to receive further communication, lamentable that for the following nine hours there had not been any chance at further communication. 

Helena had even tried to catch some sleep – after coming upstairs, she had sat down on the bed instead of continuing her pacing. But, as it had been so often in the past four years, sleep had not come, only unwanted and unhelpful thoughts, so up Helena had got, and resumed her pacing. It helped her trying to sort through her emotions, trying to guess Myka’s emotions, trying to keep from checking that Livia was still breathing more than once per hour. And now it was three in the morning, and Helena had heard the car arrive outside, had heard the motor die, had heard low voices, unintelligible words, steps, the door.

* * *

Myka saw that the light was still on behind the door to their room. Well, that was something, at least, although she couldn’t really say what kind of something it was. She felt tired all of a sudden, as if the stairs she’d just come up had been an ascent to a mountain rather than just the second floor. Still, it couldn’t be helped, and at least Helena was still awake. Pacing, probably, Myka thought with a grim smile, having had ample opportunity to witness that particular coping strategy.

Stepping closer, she hesitated for a moment, then decided to knock, if only to give both of them a moment to collect themselves. Helena’s ‘come’ sounded firm and … almost eager, as if she, too, was ready to talk this out. Myka opened the door quickly, stepped inside, put her duffel behind it, and looked up. 

Helena was standing behind the bed, totally caught in the middle of pacing, both hands buried in the hair at the back of her neck. She didn’t look furious, Myka realized, and that was something, too. Nevertheless. 

“Helena,” she said, crossing her arms and clasping her elbows. “I… I should not have… I never should have…” she closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, opened them and fixed her gaze on Helena’s face, intent to get her apology out the right way. “What I said… the way I lashed out at you, what I accused you of… none of that was okay. Not even remotely. It was unfair, thoughtless, intended only to cause you pain, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t stop to think before I reacted. I’m sorry that I did lash out, sorry about all the awful things I said. I’m sorry I reacted so badly to something…” she laughed a weak laugh, gestured a vague circle, “something we _knew_ would happen.” 

She took a step further into the room, not sure what to make of the fact that Helena’s expression hadn’t changed a bit. “If… if that’s okay, I’d also like to thank you. For handling it, even though it can’t have been easy. It must have been awful; I’m sure you were terrified, maybe even triggered, and I’m sorry I made it worse, rather than be there for you.” Myka’s eyes were drinking in every feature of Helena’s face, trying to discern any change, any reaction to her words. When she couldn’t see any, she dropped her gaze to the soft rug she was standing on, and swallowed harshly. “I … I totally understand if you’re mad at me,” she added. “I’m glad and… and grateful, that you listened to me,” and that was another something, wasn’t it?, “so, um, thank you for that.”

She heard Helena take a long, long breath, in, and out again. “It is astounding,” the black-haired woman said then, with a small huff of an almost-laugh, “how far we’ve come, my Myka.”

Myka almost shook herself, the words were so out of left field. Then again, retreating to a meta level was another form of coping that she knew had helped Helena in the past. She dropped one hand from the corresponding elbow, trying to look less confrontational, dithering on whether or not to take another step into the room. Helena took that decision from her when she started walking out from behind the bed towards Myka. 

“There were times when anyone who would have dared speak words like that to me, would have found themselves in great danger indeed. There is a part of me that vividly remembers reacting very harshly to my aptitude as a mother being questioned even in the slightest, even with good intentions.” Helena had reached the corner of the bed now, and was standing only a foot away from the rug that Myka was on. “I’ve been proud of a great many things in my life, but to date I think this is what I’m proudest of: to be able to look behind words that hurt me, and figure out the reason why they were spoken.” She took another step, joining Myka on the soft, dun-colored rug. “I can’t deny that your words hurt me, Myka. They were intended to, after all.”

Myka blinked several times. It was hard to believe what she was hearing, and the fact that she’d been awake for more than twenty hours at this point really, truly didn’t help. Then again, the same was true for Helena. She saw her partner reach out a hand, and blinked at that, too, her brain too tired to make sense of things anymore. 

“I do intend to come back to that issue, Myka. But, if you’re willing, I would like to do so at a time when we’re both more alert. Right now, I’m willing to accept your apology, and call it a day.”

“Oh! Uh… I… yeah, I mean, sure. I mean it was a long one, right?” Myka said, still feeling quite, quite uncertain that this was really happening. Not on the first flight, not on the layover, not on the second flight, not in the car, had she imagined that this could be how this situation would play out. “Um, again, thank you so, so much for handling it, Helena.”

Helena nodded and looked down at her still outstretched hand with a smile. Myka finally understood that she was supposed to take it. Helena’s hand was cold, not surprising at all – _all_ the walls of this building were thin, and March was winter in South Dakota, especially once the sun was down. “Are we agreed, then?” the older woman asked, and Myka, again, could only blink mutely. “To table the matter, come back to it tomorrow, and go to bed right now?”

Myka nodded, still at a loss for words. 

“Thank goodness,” Helena breathed, closing her eyes in supplication for a moment. Then she squeezed Myka’s hand. “Go on, then, Myka. I’ve already gotten ready for bed, so the bathroom is yours – if Pete isn’t using it, that is,” she added. 

“Yeah, no, Pete’s on his bed, in his clothes but out of his shoes. I mean, _hopefully_ out of his shoes, I guess, and fast asleep,” Myka heard herself say. She shook her head again, trying to make sense, giving up, accepting the unexpected gift she’d been given. Bathroom, brush teeth, wash face, come back and get into bed with a Helena who, while probably, understandably, rightly mad on _some_ level, was nothing but civil and honest and … friendly? Okay, so the matter had only been postponed, but she had accepted Myka’s apology, right? “Sometimes it’s like I don’t know you,” she said weakly. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “it’s not as if… I mean, I do appreciate this,” she gestured vaguely with the hand that Helena wasn’t currently holding, pointing first to Helena, then to herself. “I… I’m not sure how to handle it, though.” Her hand dropped to her side. 

Helena caught her hand and squeezed it. “My Myka,” she said solemnly. “It is three thirty in the morning, and we’ve both had long days. This is no time to handle anything, certainly not something of this magnitude. This is the time to go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, and go to sleep.” Her hands let go of Myka’s, grabbed onto Myka’s shoulders, turned Myka towards the door, and pushed slightly. “I’ll look in on Livia for a moment while you do. I’ll be back when you return, but I can’t promise I’ll still be awake. So no dawdling, love.”

Myka took a few steps toward the door, returned, hugged her partner wordlessly, went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, came back, snuggled into Helena’s side, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

A piercing scream woke her, and, for a moment, Myka struggled to parse where she was and what was going on. 

“Christina!” Helena screamed next to her, and Myka suddenly understood. She sat up quickly, caught her partner’s shoulders, and spoke to her in a low, intent voice. 

“Helena, wake up. You’re dreaming, it’s a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare, Helena, it’s not real. Wake up, come on now, wake up, Helena,” she repeated over and over again, while listening for noises in the other bedrooms, trying to discern if Livia had woken up and needed reassurance.

The door opened suddenly and without a knock. Myka’s head flew around, frown already in place, when she recognized Claudia carrying Livia, who was hugging Herr Hase to her like the life buoy the stuffed toy was. The child’s face showed much more anxiousness than pain, and Claudia explained, “she was halfway out of bed already, and wanted to get over here, but-”

“I hurt my foot, Myka,” Livia explained, “and the doctor said I’m not allowed to walk, but Claud came and carried me.” She started to struggle against Claudia’s arms, and the youngest agent set her down on Helena’s side of the bed where Livia promptly set Herr Hase in Helena’s lap before putting her small hands on Myka’s where they sat on Helena’s shoulders. “Helena,” Livia said seriously, “you just had a bad dream, okay? It’s gonna be gone in the morning, I promise.”

“Livia,” Helena gasped, and surged forward to crush the child to her in a fierce hug. 

Myka stroked Helena’s back, her fingers telling her of the shudders that ran through Helena’s body even if there were no tears. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Claudia give a little one-hand wave, looked up properly to see her point at the door, and nodded. Claudia left quietly, shutting the door behind her without a sound.

No wonder Helena would be having nightmares after this, Myka thought, and silently cursed herself for her horrible words once more. Livia _was_ okay. A twisted ankle would heal in a week or two, and there was no way that this would be the last time the kid would want to climb a tree. No way that this would be the last time they’d have a scare like that, no matter if it was trees, or ice skating, or any other of the five thousand sports that people kept suggesting Livia should take up. Helena needed Myka to support her when this kind of scare happened, not to jump down her throat for something she couldn’t have prevented. 

They had agreed that Livia should be able to try herself, to run around and test the limits of her sturdy little body. They had agreed to be safe about it and not constrictive, sensible and not prohibitive, supportive and not dismissive. They had agreed about so many things, had envisioned so many scenarios. And yet Myka felt that she had screwed up majorly at the very first occasion, and she had no idea how to set this right. She also had no idea how Helena would react to this scare; no idea if Helena could handle it, no idea if she’d want to renegotiate how much they allowed Livia’s energy to run its various courses. 

Still running her hands down Helena’s back, Myka fought for breath once more, wondering what she had gotten herself, no – all _three_ of them into. Wondering, not for the first time, if she even had what it took to raise a child, raise _this_ child. If she had what it took to be a good partner to the love of her life. Yes, she worked for it. Yes, she’d known from the start that it wouldn’t be easy – being in a relationship with Helena, raising a child; even only one of these things at a time would not have been easy, but both at the same time had such potential for disaster that some nights (like this one) Myka seriously had no idea why she had ever thought this was a good idea. 

And then Helena shifted her weight, tilted her whole upper body to where Myka sat, allowing her and Livia to slump against Myka with no hesitation, obviously without a single doubt that Myka would be there, would catch them, would hold them. As Myka hugged both of them to her, marveling at the trust Helena kept displaying, Myka vowed to herself that, once more and every day that their future brought, they would figure this out.


	2. Chapter 2 (April 3, 2013)

Helena woke up to bright April sunshine and to a sleeping Myka in her arms. _No nightmare this time,_ she smiled to herself, making a mental tally mark. No more slips and mishaps of a five-year-old, either, thank all the benevolent forces of the universe – not that Livia had been allowed to do very much while her ankle healed, in any case. But, Helena knew, it paid to be grateful for small mercies, whenever and however they presented themselves. 

Today, April 3rd, marked Myka’s and her six month anniversary as partners and as legal guardians. Six months – it seemed both too short and too long simultaneously. Considering how much Livia had grown to trust them and to accept living with them – the whole Warehouse family, really. Considering how little time Helena and Myka had spent together before, as colleagues and friends, adversaries for a brief while, penitent and savior for a much longer while, only to have skipped the ‘couple’ step completely and arrive at ‘family’ so fast. 

The past six months had seen a blissed wealth of shared mornings in bed, starting out with two people enjoying rare and quiet (and not so quiet) moments of love with each other and usually ending with three people, one of them finally allowed to walk again since yesterday and extremely cheerful about that, enjoying not very quiet moments of a different kind of love with each other. The past six months had seen a lot of inventory work, as well: shelving work, archiving work, paperwork for Myka Bering and Helena Wells. And while Helena knew that Myka missed being out on retrievals with Pete, she could not find it within herself to wish for a reversion to those days, especially considering what had happened eleven days ago. 

The past six months had also seen a... a _domesticity_ that Helena Wells would not have believed she could appreciate as much as she admittedly did. To think that she enjoyed learning to cook without setting the kitchen on fire, more than she missed hanging from grappler cables. To think that she appreciated musing about finding the right kind of school for a their foster daughter, among the admittedly meager choice Univille offered, more than she had relished discomfiting just about anybody with random flirting conversation. To think that she appreciated talking to a psychologist, by herself or in what she had learned were called ‘group sessions.’ To think that she enjoyed actively working on a relationship, even if it was hard work, instead of simply presenting her dazzling wit and sweeping good looks, and leaving it at that, leaving when ‘that’ turned out to be insufficient.

There were moments when Helena couldn’t bring herself to believe that this was a conceivable turn of events that her life had taken, but here they were – both feeling more mended than they ever had, both working on being the best of themselves, for themselves, and for each other – and for the five-year-old child entrusted to their care by a woman who- 

Helena stopped that thought. It wouldn’t do to dwell on Laura Sperling’s sacrifice right now; she knew it only made her angry; she knew she couldn’t do anything about it; she knew that _that_ would make her even angrier. So she turned her thoughts to the future, to plans for an annex to be built behind the B &B, an annex that was to house their little family, and possibly more agents than the Warehouse currently employed – there had been much lobbying by _all_ current agents and, from what Jane Lattimer had hinted at, several of the Regents as well, to bring the Warehouse back to its 1960s strength of twelve agents, to spread the load – and the risk – of retrieving and guarding artifacts over more shoulders. 

Artie had objected, but had quickly withdrawn his protests when every single agent had pointed out that they were overworked, had no real vacation scheme, had almost no back-up in case of illness, and certainly needed more manpower these days when, due to social media, curiosities (‘pings’, Helena corrected herself) were far more common than they had ever been. Besides, as Myka had pointed out, Artie needed to get over his protectiveness of his agents; not wanting to add to the number of people he could possibly lose in the field was no argument that would stand any form of professional scrutiny.

Helena was involved in these enlargement plans just as Myka was, in terms of providing input about the new home for their family, and that had led to interesting, and at times quite painful conversations. Helena was glad that, in Abigail, the Warehouse agents had a more than competent psychologist and counselor, if not as good a cook as Leena had been. They all certainly needed Abigail’s professional strengths far more than unburnt food on a regular basis – Univille had restaurants, after all. 

Nevertheless, when, in one of the rarer couple’s sessions she and Myka had attended a month ago, Abigail had brought up the topic of possibly enlarging their family, it had been… painful. And while Abigail had apologized for the suddenness, and had mentioned the short time that Helena, Myka and Livia had been a family to begin with, she had also, and rightly, pointed out that if there was talk about family quarters, it made sense to think about how many children’s rooms these quarters should contain.

Helena had not even considered, up to that moment, the possibility that Myka could even want to add another child, or more than one, to their existing family. Looking at Myka’s face, slack with shock as it had been, had suggested that Myka had not, either. They had shelved the topic at the time, and then, almost a fortnight ago, Livia had fallen out of a tree, and the repercussions of that particular event had led to discussions about their parenting of one particular child, and thoughts about possibly parenting more than that particular child. When Helena had put these thoughts forward, Myka had asked to postpone talking about them, and Helena had agreed that it made more sense to work through one topic before they opened the next. However-

“You’re thinking about the kid thing again,” a sleepy voice interrupted Helena’s musings. 

She turned her head slightly and kissed the top of Myka’s forehead, and tightened her arm around her partner’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, my Myka, I didn’t intend to think quite this loudly,” she said.

Myka sighed and propped herself up to her elbows, squinting a little in the sunlight. “Lemme get tea and we’ll talk about this, okay?”

Helena hummed her agreement, and smiled at herself for keeping her fingers crossed until Myka came back with their two morning mugs, wishing fervently that Livia would sleep a while longer.

When Myka was back in their room, sitting cross-legged on the bed, cradling a cup of steaming Darjeeling, she sighed again. “I guess we should get into this while we have the chance, right?” she said. 

Helena looked at her hands, equally wrapped around a mug, and nodded mutely. “It has been preying on my mind ever since Abigail mentioned it, and you know I’m-,” she broke off, one hand fluttering away from the mug to wave vaguely in the air.

“Not fond of pushing things behind doors,” Myka finished with a smile. “Yeah, that’s my forte, not yours.”

Helena returned the smile readily. That was something they had discovered about themselves and each other months ago, after all, if not earlier. “It’s not that I don’t like the solution we agreed to present to the Regents,” she said, “to simply have two more rooms as guest room and library, and to convert those if we feel that adding to our family is something we want to do.”

Myka nodded. “You really do want to talk about if we actually do want another kid in the future.” She chuckled softly and rolled her eyes. “I can’t even say I haven’t ever thought about it. You know, back in August last year when…”

Now it was Helena’s turn to look skyward. “When Pete’s unfortunate thoughts while holding an artifact resulted in you being eight months into a simulated pregnancy,” she continued, trying to keep her voice deadpan. “Well. At least we both have an idea of what we would be getting into physically,” she added, trying to keep her voice light.

“Helena, we both know it’s not the physical aspects that we need to be clear about,” Myka said gently. 

“True.” Helena took a deep breath, then sipped at her Darjeeling. “Speaking only for myself,” she said after a while, “I am quite, quite certain that at this point, I am not up to it. I am not sure if I will ever be at a point where I am; however,” she added quickly, “Myka, if you do want to have a biological child as a sibling for Livia at some time in the future, please know that I understand, and that I will try to get to that point.” 

Myka nodded, reaching out to grasp Helena’s hand that was not holding the mug of tea. “Pretty much the same here. Right now? After the Leena Tree Incident? Definitely not ready to ‘enlarge the family’, as Abigail put it.” She shook her head a little. “Definitely.” Taking a sip of tea, herself, she continued, “I mean I understand the… the urge, as it were. Even only being pregnant for half a day, even feeling pretty awful most of that half a day, I understand. It was definitely… something. Interesting.” She looked down on their clasped hands and added in a small voice, “amazing.”

Helena marveled at how soft Myka’s eyes were, fixed on nothing but thoughts about carrying a child under her heart. She could empathize, certainly – carrying Christina had been a time of wonder far more often than it had been a time of discomfort; hers had been an easy pregnancy, thank goodness. Even though, these days and all days since Christina’s death, the thought of that easy pregnancy, that wonder, had become inseparably joined with the pain of losing this sweet child she had carried, Helena was able to cherish the good memories for what they were. This was something she attributed in no small measure to the continued efforts she, Myka, and Abigail were making at healing the wounds Christina’s murder had dealt her, and to the daily challenge and marvel that was Livia Sperling.

“So, um, I … I can’t rule out,” Myka continued, and Helena’s eyes snapped to her partner once more, “that I might want that at some point.” The expression in Myka’s green eyes changed suddenly, and she squeezed Helena’s hand. “I do want you to know, though…” she looked down for a moment, then met Helena’s eyes again, “that this is not just about me and what I want. If you don’t feel like having another child ever again, no matter who actually carries it or, or if we adopt, or foster, or anything, that is totally, absolutely okay. I mean, we do have Livia, and even if neither of us carried her, I do feel like she’s ours in a way. So if the three of us stay the three of us, that’s fine with me. And if,” Myka swallowed hard, “if at any point Laura… you know… if she’s, um, well enough to take care of Livia, then…” she took a deep breath.

“Then we will figure it out?” Helena suggested, and Myka nodded. 

“Yeah. We will,” she said firmly, and smiled her lopsided smile, the smile that never failed to make Helena’s heart fill with love. “No matter what size our family is going to be, we’ll figure it out. Certainly not ruling out that we’ll enlarge it at some point if we both feel up to that, but-”

“But not right now,” Helena reiterated.

“No, not right now,” Myka confirmed. “And not just because of you and me and where _we_ are, but also because of-,”

“- where Livia is,” Helena nodded, voicing that concern at the same time as Myka. 

“Yeah,” Myka sighed. “Six months is no time at all to get settled, is it,” she added. “I mean, we started out wanting to give this sweet kid a chance to live in a stable environment among people who love her so that she can get used to being loved, right? So that she can grow up knowing that being loved and, and having a home doesn’t hang on how … how she behaves.” That had been a contribution of Claudia’s, late some night after Livia had woken the whole house with a nightmare.

Helena finished her tea and moved closer to Myka, taking care not to spill her partner’s tea as she hugged her. “A good thing to know, growing up,” she said softly, thinking back to another conversation, shortly after Christmas, about another child growing up not being certain of that.

Myka ducked her head, put her mug on the nightstand, and returned Helena’s embrace with a vengeance. “Do you think she knows?” she whispered, sounding unsure and a little forlorn.

Helena tightened her arms even more. “Six months, my Myka,” she reminded her partner gently. “Six months isn’t that long, even if you’re only five years old.” She pressed a gentle kiss on Myka’s shoulder, which was the closest bit of skin she could reach. “But, if it helps, I am convinced that Livia feels it more often than not. And I think that at this early point, that’s all we can ask for.”

Myka let her head fall to Helena’s shoulder, and clenched her hands around the other woman’s pajama top, fighting to relax into the embrace. After a few minutes, she sighed and sat up straighter again. “I suppose you’re right.” She smiled again, if a bit shakily. “We’ll figure that out, too?” 

“We will,” Helena replied, and leaned forward to kiss Myka, trying to convey, through that kiss, the conviction she felt about that simple truth. They would figure it out. Under her lips, she could feel the corners of Myka’s mouth move upwards, and knew her partner was back on firmer emotional ground. “Do you know what day it is, my love?” she whispered in Myka’s ear, and was rewarded with a chuckle. 

“Helena! Of course I do!” Myka leaned back and retrieved her tea from the nightstand, emptying the mug in one draft. “Six months,” she beamed at Helena, a little breathless, lips still moist with Darjeeling.

“To the day,” Helena confirmed.

“That a legal document mentioned the two of us together.”

“Not even using my real name,” Helena added the small but important aspect.

Myka waved a hand dismissively, smiling so deeply that her dimples were showing. “Details,” she scoffed. “It did make us…” her smile widened, filled with an amount of love that quite took Helena’s breath away. Then Myka leaned forward and kissed Helena, wordlessly telling her of another aspect of her love that made Helena’s whole body tingle with electricity.

When they broke apart, Helena added hoarsely, “If I recall correctly, _that_ didn’t happen until much later.”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t happen again right now, I hope.” Myka’s smile was lopsided again, but in a completely different way. This was her scoundrel’s smile, the smile that never failed to fill Helena’s insides with an ardor related to, and substantial part of, the love she felt for Myka. 

“That would depend, I presume, on how long our Livia is going to remain asleep,” Helena replied, feeling a little short of breath, and suddenly nervous about being caught in bed by a five-year-old.

“Oh! About that,” Myka said, her smile growing a little more dangerous to Helena’s countenance. 

Helena swallowed. “Yes?” she managed. 

“I… um, I might have…”

“Yes?”

“Asked Claudia and Pete to take care of Livia today so that we can go somewhere and…” The first words of the sentence came out in a rush, but Myka’s voice petered out more and more as she neared the end. “Um…” she finished, blushing delightfully. “You know.”

Helena fought to keep her face impassive, fought to only raise one eyebrow very slowly, delighting in the effect it had on her partner. “I see,” she said, when the eyebrow had climbed to its highest.


	3. Chapter 3 (April 4, 2013)

“Remember that time when you found the kid in her room, singing the Katamari song, covering herself in sticky ta-,”

“That was yesterday, Pete,” Claudia sighed wearily. She had done her share of babysitting before. She had even done her share of babysitting with Pe- alright, babysitting Pete _and_ Livia, before. It was just her luck that things should get out of hand this badly on a day when her babysitting had nothing to do with Myka and H.G. being called away on Warehouse business but with them celebrating a ‘milestone of our relationship’, which, sweet, but also, yeah, their business. Just her luck that the kid had been so stoked about finally being allowed to walk on her own again, that she was basically bubbling over, _needing_ to do something, anything, other than lie around and be bored out of her tiny little mind.

“Yeah, I know, I’m practicing,” Pete replied immediately. “And then you said, hey kiddo, let’s do this right, and got out the double-sided ta-”

“ _Yes_ , Pete, I do remember. I was there, right?” She tried shooting daggers from her eyes to stop him, not that that had ever worked on Overgrown Boy Lattimer. 

“And then Livia bounced around her room for-,” Pete went on, totally oblivious.

“ _YES_ , Pete-,”

He was laughing so much now that he didn’t even hear her, she thought. “And then things got _totally_ out of control when she decided to bounce out the door and down the stairs and-,”

“Oh God, stahp,” Claudia groaned, burying her face in her hands, because of _course_ that had been the moment when Myka and H.G. had come through the front door. Two weeks – not even _two weeks_ after the tree climbing disaster, and she’d been entrusted with- … and then-… Claudia sighed deeply. Granted, Myka was laughing about the whole thing today, and H.G., yeah okay, she’d been laughing about the whole thing yesterday already, when they had barely been through the door. 

Thankfully, Pete did stop, if only because he couldn’t get any more words out, between laughing his head off and singing snatches of the Katamari theme. 

She would never agree to babysit again. If she was ever even asked again, that was.

It wasn’t even as if she’d given the kid any sugar.

Fifteen minutes later, Pete had finally given up on torturing her and gone to find something for dinner when H.G. appeared at Claudia’s door, Myka in tow and – Claudia did a double take. 

Helena had her hair up in a ponytail. Frack.

And by the look in Myka’s eyes, Myka didn’t know what the ponytail signified, and only remembered the last time she’d seen H.G. Wells in a ponytail – not as H.G. Wells at all, but as Emily Hannah Lake from Cheyenne, Wyoming. Or maybe the time before that, as start-an-ice-age-and-kill-humanity H.G. Wells in Yellowstone. Or the time before that, as Interceptor-Vest-clad-MacPherson-Killer-

* * *

Myka saw Claudia gulp. “So, um, H.G.,” the young woman said, her voice quavering only a little, “you want a rematch, huh?”

“I do indeed,” Helena said as they both stepped in and Helena closed the door behind them. Myka would have sworn Claudia swallowed again. The redhead turned to the little music box that sat on her night stand and flipped a switch on it, right as Helena continued, “And I believe this time I shall, as you say, wipe the floor with you.”

“No need, H.G., I activated it,” Claudia said and grinned. Then, to Myka, “you can talk now. I think you need it; you look as though you might explo-”

“Will either of you, at any time, tell me what the frack is going on here?” Myka demanded before the younger woman was even finished.

“I think you might want to sit down first, Myka,” Helena said, not really helping matters. It _did_ help that she finally pulled her hair out of that wretched ponytail, Myka thought. “Technically, we, that is Claudia and I, are playing a video game against each other. That is, at least, what anyone will hear when they’re listening in on us. May I?” She looked first at Claudia’s bed, then at Claudia questioningly, and, upon receiving a nod, sat down on the only sitting option not currently occupied by the room’s owner herself. Tugging at Myka’s hand, she continued, “Please, Myka? Sit down. I will tell you everything. I promise.”

So Myka sat. And listened. And heard how Helena and Claudia had been spurred by anger about the Regents (“is this still about Laura Sperling and the Janus Coin?” – “well, that’s how it started, yes.”) and a vibe Pete’s mom had said she had, also about the Regents. Heard how these two tinkerers had tinkered and thought and invented and tinkered some more and come up with a security system _within_ their already extensive security systems. Heard how they had tried and were still trying to find more ways of keeping artifacts safe from inside tampering, and ways of keeping Regents from tampering with the Warehouse, the B &B and its future annex, and the Tinkering Shed. 

“Not the Regent Vault, though,” Claudia said with a frustrated shrug. “We can’t really get physical access to it without alerting the Regents, and I need physical access for what I’m planning.”

Myka shook her head. “Are you- this... this is...” She blew out a breath. “All of this, based on a _vibe_?”

“Oh geez no, Myka,” Claudia shot her a withering look. “Based on a vibe, based on _massively_ disagreeing with Regent decisions, _and_ ,” her voice suddenly became incredibly intense, “based on how freaking _easy_ it was for people like Sykes and MacPherson to get into our systems. Based on how if we had had more security in place, Artie wouldn’t have been able to fool us all for as long as he did. Don’t get me wrong,” she held up her hands, “I trust all you guys with my _life_ , most of all Artie-Bear. But the fact is, we need failsafes and backup plans in case someone we think we can trust suddenly turns out to be someone we can’t trust at all.”

“You forgot one item in your list, Claudia,” Helena said. “It wasn’t just about Sykes, MacPherson and Artie. It was about me, as well. I fooled you, all of you, and-” Myka turned to her, already taking breath, but Helena’s smile and an upheld hand stopped her. “This is not about self-flagellation, Myka,” the older woman continued. “I do try to no longer resort to that. I am simply trying to ensure that no one can repeat what I did. I do believe I am a good consultant in that matter.”

“Yeah, well,” Claudia muttered under her breath. “Not to put down your input or anything, which was awesome, H.G., don’t get me wrong, but… you _were_ the only consultant in this matter.”

“So… so when would you two have told the rest of us? Are you even planning on telling the others? Why are you telling me this now?” Myka snapped, not sure who she was angrier at. 

“We’re telling you now because H.G. would have blown a gasket if we’d waited any longer and because I finally got this baby working,” Claudia patted the music box, taking care not to deactivate the switch on its side. “You wouldn’t believe how bugged this place is. Like, seriously, after we started looking into things? We didn’t even need to hear about Mrs. Lattimer’s vibe anymore. The Regents, _these_ Regents, some of them are messed up. I don’t know what they’re afraid of, but they totally don’t trust us, and so I don’t see why _we_ should trust _them_.”

“Bugged.” Myka said flatly. 

“Aber _hallo_.” Claudia nodded, employing one of the few phrases of German she’d adopted, which, as Myka understood it, was the equivalent of ‘like you wouldn’t believe.’ “That was the first thing we did, look for surveillance. Then we looked for booby traps, alerts, those kindsa things, both actual physical ones in the Warehouse and binary ones in the system code.”

“The fact that we did not find any of those led us to assume that the person, or persons, behind this are either not sophisticated hackers or burglars,” Helena added, “or that they simply haven’t had enough time to implement their ideas.”

“Good thing if it’s the former, bad thing if it’s the latter. Awesome if it’s both, though,” Claudia finished. “So, our first priority was to figure out a way in which we could talk without being overheard. I started up here because no one would ever think twice about me _tinkering_ ,” she wriggled her fingers at Myka, “up here, right? And H.G. tried to get more intel on our Regents without anyone getting suspicious. And I don’t know how far she got, but _I’m_ done, and so we’re here to talk.” She tilted her head at Helena. “Right?”

Helena nodded. “Exactly.” She turned to Myka and folded her hands in her lap, fingers curled around the hair band. When her eyes came up to meet Myka’s, they were nervous, almost pleading. “Myka, when you… yesterday, we…” she broke off with an impatient exhalation. “This is not quite the best way to begin this conversation. I would like to say this, first and foremost: I had vowed to myself to never go behind your back again. In anything. Not because of yesterday,” she said quickly, as if reading Myka’s thoughts, “and not just _since_ yesterday.” She looked down at her hands again. “In fact, this has been my tenet since… since you and I became…” she stopped, searching for the right word. 

“A thing? A couple? A family?” Claudia grinned broadly at the two of them and added, “aww, aren’choo guys the cutest,” when Myka took Helena’s hand. “I gotta say, though, no hanky-panky beyond holding hands on _this_ bed, ladies. If anyone- well, never mind.” She rolled her eyes, then grew more serious again. “Myka, I swear H.G.’s telling the truth. She wasn’t even happy about this,” and she pointed to her closed door and the music box on the table, “thinking that _this_ was going behind your back already, when I told her she couldn’t tell you before we’d made sure that telling you meant telling _only_ you and not whoever Regent feels they need to listen in on us.”

“So what exactly _are_ you telling me?” Myka asked. 

“That we think at least one Regent isn’t quite the upstanding member of a secret government organization that they should be,” Claudia replied immediately. “Some minor artifacts aren’t where they should be without triggering any alarms, and while,” she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, “Chaos knows misplacement can always happen, I don’t even need to be Pete to get a bad vibe about that. You know I’ve been trying to categorize our artifacts for years now, trying to get more of the really dangerous ones, like Collodi’s Bracelet, off the open shelves.”

Myka nodded at that; that had actually been part of the plan to increase security that they’d come up with last year, and she herself had helped move artifacts into newly designed secure holding areas. Even back then, Claudia had said she’d been working on that before, spurred by, Myka would have bet, the ease with which MacPherson had gotten his hands on Harriet Tubman’s Thimble.

“Well, the ones I found missing are nowhere near that level, but you can create epic level shenanigans with any and all artifacts in some form or fashion. So far I haven’t really figured out what anyone would do with most of the stuff that’s AWOL, but one has caught my eye in a big way.” She takes one of the tablets from her desk, taps the screen a few times, and hands it to Myka. “Demara’s wristwatch,” she explains, more for Helena’s benefit, “he was a famous impostor early to mid 20th century.”

“So an artifact connected to him-” Helena began. 

Myka nodded, “-might make people see what they want to see; allow the wearer to impersonate anyone.” She frowned a little as she read the description. “Yeah, that’s what this says. And it’s missing?”

“Yup,” Claudia exhaled heavily. “Can’t say since when, have been going through hours and hours of footage to try and find _anything_.” She tilted back on her chair, holding up a hand, first finger extended. “I’m telling you one thing. No, two. One, once we find this watch, it’ll go right into Secure next to the goddamn Thimble, and two, next thing I’m installing in the Warehouse are freaking trip wires. We _gotta_ know who is on the floor and when, if only to prevent Pete from accidentally getting whammied and having another Christmas Mess-Up where he’s out cold for ten hours without anyone knowing.”

Myka couldn’t help but agree. This was sensible, just like sending agents onto the floor for inventory only in pairs, just like only one agent handling any artifact at any one time, just like pilots never eating the same food as their co-pilots. “Okay, so, Pete’s mom is concerned about some of the new Regents, we’re missing artifacts, among them at least one that’s handy for impersonating someone, the B&B is bugged. What else do we know?”

“I’ve collected what data I could about the Regents,” Helena spoke up. “There are fourteen of them, currently, plus Adwin Kosan. From what I gathered, six of them are relatively recent, which is quite unprecedented.”

“Sykes,” Myka grated. 

“That guy has a lot to answer for,” Claudia agreed darkly.

Helena cleared her throat. “I do take responsibility for Benedict Valda’s death,” she said gravely, then sighed and gave Myka a nod to, again, clarify that she wasn’t saying this to beat herself up, but only to be clear on the matter. “Furthermore,” Helena continued, “the Regent security detail has grown exponentially in the last ten months, more than doubling in size, which is also a first, at least to this degree. So I narrowed my research to Regents that joined around that time. May I?” She reached out for the tablet and Myka handed it to her with a smile. It would, she thought, never fail to thrill her to see Helena, to see _H.G. Wells_ , use contemporary tech as proficiently as she was currently doing. 

“Here. I ruled out Deb Stanley, even though she falls within the time frame. I assumed that with both you and Pete having interacted with her, she isn’t likely to be among the bad eggs.” Helena looked at Myka, her eyes silently asking if that assumption had been correct. 

“Yeah,” Myka nodded, “I can’t see that, either. Although, really, we should ask Pete if he got a vibe about her; they ‘interacted’ more than me.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the memory of basically walking in on them last September. 

“Do tell,” Claudia said immediately, catching on and ready for gossip.

“Claudia – focus.” Myka mock-glared at the youngest agent, who returned an equally mock pout.

“Very well then,” Helena breathed out, making a note on her tablet, “in that case these four are our shortlist candidates.” She turned the tablet over so that both Claudia and Myka could see. “Fredericson, Clifford H., 62 years old, retired civil engineer. Consults on environmental projects these days.” She swiped once. “Jeong, Shelby C., 54 years old, patent attorney. Plays two dozen musical instruments and breeds orchids.” Another swipe. “Watson, Augusta D., 66 years old, hairdresser, leads the choir of Sioux Falls United Methodist Church.” A last swipe. “Sad Bull, Rita M., 42 years old, owner of a limousine and taxi service, Oglala historian and teacher of-” she smirked, “chainsaw art classes.”

“Awesome,” Claudia breathed. “I like _her_.”

“We can’t afford to like or dislike any of them,” Helena said.

“Yeah, I know, I know. What I do like, though, is the Warehouse finally acknowledging we’re sitting on Native land, and getting one of them into the inner circle, so to speak.” Claudia let out a sigh. “It’s a start, anyway. Pretty sweet that you found their names and occupations, H.G.. I wouldn’t have thought that those were on file anywhere.”

“They aren’t, not exactly.” Helena shifted a little. “But none of the Regents have Farnsworths, and neither does Kosan.”

“You hacked Kosan’s _phone_?” Myka felt dazed. That was probably why her voice sounded about an octave higher than usual. She cleared her throat. “And Jane’s too, I assume?”

“Jane’s first, Kosan’s second, yes,” Helena confirmed. “From there, it was surprisingly simple to find phone numbers and names. Shockingly simple, really.” She shook her head. “We already restructured _our_ security measures; when this is over, I would strongly suggest the Regents do as well.”

“No kidding,” Claudia agreed. “Plus, I think they are going to need a more reliable lie detector if they even use any. I’d volunteer Steve, but I don’t want any Regent anywhere near Steve for the rest of our lives.” She scowled at the tablet that Helena still held in her hands.

“So… so, what now?” Myka asked. “What do we do? Can we do anything? And, to come back to one of my earlier questions, are we going to tell the others?”

Claudia let out a huge breath. “I’m kinda divided on that one. I mean, I like H.G.’s approach here, of not going behind the back of her _partner_ -” she sang the last word in a way that left no doubt that she was teasing. “We’ve had enough of not telling each other things to last me a lifetime, I swear.” This time, she inhaled equally strongly. “But on the other hand, the fewer people know, the fewer the chances of anything being overheard or slipping out by accident.”

“Claudia, we’re seven people, and three know already,” Myka pointed out. 

“More to the point, I believe, is the fact that the more people that we trust know about this breach of trust, the better we can protect one another,” Helena added. “Including Livia.”

Myka sucked in air sharply. “Shit, Helena.” She hadn’t even thought about that, and now that she did, her blood ran cold. As if worrying about trees wasn’t enough! She was very grateful when Helena put down the tablet and took her hand again, squeezing back and holding on tight. 

“Livia is safe, Myka,” Helena said quietly. “She has the Mini Farnsworth, she has the GPS sensors in all her shoes and in Herr Hase.”

“I… suppose,” Myka said, hesitantly. “I mean, at least we know that something’s up, now. Forewarned, forearmed, right? We need to…,” she took a deep breath, “we need to _plan_ for… things. Eventualities. Possibilities.”

Helena smiled brightly at her. “And you’re so very good at that, Myka.”

“Back at it again with the cute, I see,” Claudia said, rolling her eyes and grinning. “You’re right though, Myka. Also, with at least one artifact that can deceive people into thinking the wearer is any person they choose, I think we _gotta_ not just tell the others, but actually come up with signs and signals that make sure every one of us, including the pipsqueak, will _know_ if the person they’re talking to is actually one of us or one of them.”

Myka took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Helena’s. “Agreed.”


	4. Chapter 4 (May 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The events of the previous installments of this series happened between October and Christmas 2012, so this is taking liberties with the timeline, but I don’t care. The movie Ghostbusters released in summer of 2016, and it seems set in at least late spring, and I’m not messing around with that. Just with the year. So, effectively, this is set about 5-6 months after the events of 'Fate and Pawn', in May 2013.)
> 
> (I hope I've done justice to our favorite Examiners of Metaphysical Phenomena.)

“Is this it?” Pete’s voice sounded equal parts disappointed and excited. To be fair, their destination did look quite ramshackle, but that in and of itself was nothing new to Warehouse agents. Artifacts were not beholden to grandeur, after all. The excitement in her fellow agent’s face, Helena would wager quite a goodly sum, stemmed from the fact that the ground floor of the building in front of them was a Chinese restaurant. 

“Yeah, this is the address Claudia gave us,” Myka replied tersely. She put a hand on Pete’s arm, holding him back from rushing towards the restaurant. “Remember, she did say that this ping was the most massive she’d ever seen.” As they closed in on the door of the establishment, all of them moved their Teslas to sit a bit more loosely in their respective holsters. 

It was quite early in the morning, and the restaurant itself was empty of customers. The man behind the counter looked up and began to smile invitingly, which quickly changed to a grimace and sigh. “You want upstairs,” he said resignedly. 

The three agents looked at each other, perplexed. “We, um... we haven’t-” Myka began.

“You want ghosts, right? Not dim sum?” 

“Ghosts.” Myka’s voice was flat. She and Helena exchanged a significant look, but any reply further than what Myka had said was drowned out by Pete, sounding beyond enthusiastic.

“Can we have both?” 

The restaurant employee simply pointed at the ceiling.

* * *

“Hello?” Pete’s voice sang out as they ascended the stairs. “Any ghosts up there?”

“Keep it down, Pete!” Myka hissed. 

“But Mykes, this is awesome!” he replied, sounding surly. “I mean, ghosts AND dim sum? What’s not to love?”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Myka scoffed.

“If my time at the Warehouse has taught me anything, Myka, it is that there is no such thing as ‘no such thing’,” Helena tried to calm her down, and raised an eyebrow at Pete when her fellow agent grinned at her and offered his hand for a ‘high five.’ 

Myka took a deep breath. “Yeah. Fine. Point taken. But seriously? Ghosts?!” They rounded a corner to find an elaborately decorated, half-open doorway. Pete slowed down and held up a hand, immediately serious. 

“Hello?” he called out again. “Anybody here?” 

“Um, yeah,” a male voice replied. “ _I’m_ here.” 

“Sounds normal enough,” Pete muttered, and went through the doorway. 

“Pete! When has that ever-” Myka sighed, rolled her eyes, threw up her hands, and followed. So did Helena.

The man they encountered sitting behind a desk did look normal enough, if quite handsome, Helena mused. “Hi!” he said, beaming at them. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, hi,” Myka said, trying to keep an eye on him while also sneaking a look into what lay beyond his desk – another doorway and behind it a plethora of gadgets standing, lying, hanging fantastically willy-nilly. “We, uh... we’re from a government agency that searches for and archives powerful and/or dangerous artifacts, and we’re looking to see if you have any here.” 

The other two agents looked at her in shock. A reveal of their activities in such blunt matter, unprovoked by any circumstances, was unprecedented – and deserving of suspicion. 

“Uh, Mykes?” Pete said slowly. “That was... don’t you think that was a bit... tee emm eye?” He winked at Helena, who furrowed her brow in confusion. 

“Yeeeaaah...,” Myka nodded, equally slowly. “Might be a truth artifact at work.” She swallowed. “We should be careful of what we say.” She turned back to the man behind the desk. “Um, wh-... what is this place, then?”

“Oh! Uh. Err... that is actually…” the man began searching through a stack of paper. “Just one moment, please. I have...” he mumbled to himself as he flipped through individual pages, almost dislodging his mug. “It’s gotta be somewh- ah-hah!” he shouted triumphantly, holding aloft a single sheet of paper stained with coffee. He started reading from it. “’Department of Metaphysical Examination. Scientific research into paranormal activities. Strictly scientific.” He looked up and grinned at them. “It’s underlined, see?” He turned the page over and pointed. “Scientific.”

“I knew it!” Pete punched the air. “There ARE ghosts here.”

Myka rounded on him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Pete. He- I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Kevin.” Kevin said with another charming smile. 

“Thank you. Kevin only said that they _research_ paranormal activities. Research doesn’t mean that the researched thing exists!”

“Oh yeah? So what’s this stuff, then? Knitting needles?” Pete pointed towards the equipment visible through the doorway, then turned and walked towards it. “No, this looks like something straight out of your workshop, H.G..” He started poking something that looked like a cross between a vermin trap and an electric relay.

“You touch my baby, I burn your finger off.” Neither of them had seen the woman who spoke appear, but there she was, pointing a – Helena did a double-take – a flaming Bunsen burner at Pete, who hastily backed away. “Who are you?” the woman said, squinting.

“We come in peace!” Pete squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Um, Pete Lattimer’s the name. And this is my partner Myka Bering, and _her_ partner H.G. Wells.”

The woman suddenly grinned so saucily that Helena had no doubts about which way she had taken Pete’s words. Her deduction was confirmed when the woman looked at each of them in turn, her gaze traveling slowly from head to foot. “Partners, huh? I ship it.”

“Pete!” Myka smacked Pete’s arm. Then, turning towards the woman – who still had not put her Bunsen burner down, or even turned it off, Helena noticed – she asked, “and you are...?”  
“Holtzmann,” the woman replied, switching the burner effortlessly to her left and reaching out her right. When Myka took it gingerly, Holtzmann shook it good and long – a bit too long, maybe, Helena thought with a frown. “Jillian Holtzmann. I have partners, too, but they’re not here right now. Also, not _those_ kind of partners, more’s the pity.” She looked at a timepiece on her wrist, neatly burning a stain into the table that the device was sitting on. “Whoops!” She grinned and flicked the burner off with her thumb. “They usually aren’t in this early. I... hah. I guess I’ve worked through the night again.” She flipped the burner, with remarkable expertise, several times in the air, caught it, and set it down. “D’y’wanna to see what I’ve been working on?” 

“Yes!” said Helena instantly – simultaneously with Pete. They looked at each other, one grinning widely, one smirking at the unexpectedness. That the two of them would ever agree on something that easily was still an uncommon enough occurrence that even Myka looked amused. Thank goodness another high-five was not offered.

“These babies here...,” Holtzmann walked over to another table heaped with haphazard-looking equipment, “will become my independently operated, high-vol- hang on a second.” She turned around and looked at Helena with sudden, intense scrutiny. “Eitch. Gee. Wells.” She walked slowly towards, then around Helena. “Coincidence? I think not.” She whipped out an instrument that whirred into life, and ran it over Helena’s torso. 

Pete and Myka instantly pulled their Teslas. “Put that away _right now_!” Myka commanded. “This is an electric gun which will stun you and erase your memory!” 

“And she’s not afraid to use it!” echoed Pete. 

“WHAT?!” Instantly, Holtzmann’s attention was distracted. “Lemme see that,” she exclaimed as she ran towards Myka, oblivious to the obvious threat the agent had just outlined to her. 

“Stop!” Myka yelled, and when Holtzmann did not, she pulled the trigger. What neither of the three agents had anticipated, however, was that Holtzmann dived, not head-first, but feet-first, avoiding the Tesla’s energy beam and sliding towards Myka, knocking the feet from under her so that the tall agent landed squarely on the blonde scientist. 

Holtzmann grinned wickedly, wrapped arms and legs around Myka, and flipped both of them over. Sitting atop the agent’s hips and pinning her arms to her sides, Holtzmann grabbed her prize, looking at the Tesla with obvious fascination. “Oh, you _beauty_.”

Pete and Helena stared, first at the two women, then at each other, then at the two women again. The scientist obviously was not dangerous. Highly eccentric, certainly, but it appeared that all she wanted was, indeed, a closer look at the agents’ weapon of choice. It was only when she pointed it, sighting down the barrel, that Pete and Helena raised their Teslas again. 

“Oh come on,” Holtzmann scoffed as she lowered the Tesla she was holding. “If this is indeed an electric gun, and since I don’t see any electrode darts, if you shoot now, you’re not just gonna stun me, you’ll stun your partner, too.” Her delivery of the word ‘partner’ again left no doubt as to how she meant it. “Or are your clothes not conductive? Would it even matter? How much power does this baby have?” She studied the Tesla intently. Then Myka shifted, and Holtzmann looked down. “If I let you up, will you show me how this works?”

“Yes.” Myka’s voice was dangerous, and again, Helena had no doubt how Myka meant her word – even though it was probably quite different from what the scientist thought. 

“Excellent!” Without diverting her eyes from the Tesla, Holtzmann got up on one knee, preparing to stand up – and Myka’s legs and arms came up, sweeping the scientist off of her and catching her in a headlock while Helena moved in to retrieve the Tesla. Despite in her predicament, Holtzmann held on to the Tesla for as long as she could. When the struggle was over and Holtzmann left unarmed and pouting, the two female agents looked over to where Pete was standing. Mouth slightly open, the look on his face that was best described as ‘wistful’, Helena thought. 

“Damnit, Pete!” Myka yelled, and the male agent abruptly closed his mouth and shook himself. 

“Sorry, Mykes. For a moment there, I... uh...,” Pete scratched the back of his head and grinned apologetically. “Blanked out, I guess. Won’t happen again.” 

Helena sighed. “This mission is not going well, is it.” 

Holtzmann perked up again. “Ooooh, British accent too.” She took hold of her original instrument again, but stopped when three Teslas were pointed at her. She held up her hands. “Geez, people, this is just a para-meter.” She paused. “Nothing? An instrument for measuring paranormality. Para. Meter.” Again, she waited for a reaction. “ _Really?_ Fine. Fine! Where’s Abby when you need her?! She’d have laughed at this! But no, all the audience _I_ get is... well, I guess since it includes a British author who should have died a hundred years ago, and should have been male, it’s not _too_ shabby, I suppose.” She twirled the instrument slightly. “What does a girl have to do to be allowed to use this?”

* * *

By the time her colleagues arrived, most misunderstandings had been cleared up, and breakfast had been ordered from the restaurant downstairs, much to the delight of Pete Lattimer. 

“Just so I understand you,” the small, brown-haired scientist who had introduced herself as Abby Yates asked, head cocked, “you’re worried that there is something here that makes people tell the truth about things they’d rather keep secret? Some... artifact, you call them?”

“And you have no idea what it could be?” asked Patty Tolan, a tall black woman with braided hair. “I mean…” she looked around meaningfully, and Helena had to agree. The sheer number of things in this room was staggering. 

“Y’know what?” asked Pete. “If we had something like this para-meter of yours, only for _our_ stuff. That’d be _awesome_.” His face blanched suddenly as he saw Helena and Holtzmann look at each other with obvious fascination. “Oh my god.” He raised his hands and took a step backwards. “Forget I ever said anything.”

“But that is a brilliant idea, Pete!” Helena exclaimed, a bit miffed at his reaction. 

“Yeah, Pete, what’s wrong with that?” Myka asked, arms akimbo. 

“Guys. _Guys_!” he said intently. “Seriously?” He ticked off the items on his fingers. “A, if this place is haunted, we could be introducing ghosts to the Warehouse if we take anything back. No one wants that. I mean, can you imagine Mrs. F’s face?” He imitated the intimidating Warehouse keeper’s best stern expression of disappointment. Helena had to admit that it was quite accurate. “B, and what’s worse – do you really want to get Helena, Claudia, and Ms Holtzmann here-” 

“Doctor Holtzmann, sunny Jim,” the doctor in question intervened immediately.

“Dr. Holtzmann, sorry,” Pete went on, hardly missing a beat, “into the same workshop? No offense, ladies, but that idea really, _really_ frightens me. I mean, even disregarding the shenanigans you three would be sure to get into, Dr. Holtzmann is basically Claudia from the timeline where she never met Artie. If these two shake hands, the whole world might explode!”

All eyes were on him for a beat – except those of Kevin, who was doing who knew what at the front desk. Helena marveled at his display of disinterest. 

Then, “Okay, so, um. Any idea of where we start to look?” the last of the team of four scientists said. Helena remembered her name as Erin Gilbert. Doctor Gilbert seemed quite flustered. 

“ _We_ don’t start to look,” Holtzmann said. Yates nodded emphatically. “ _You_ are going to destroy my placement system if you do, you’re going to mess with my projects, you’re going to be handling things you don’t understand and yes, that means you too, Abby, I’m sorry.” She flashed her colleague a quick smile. “Just tell me what you’re looking for and come back in, oh, three days.”

Myka shook her head. “That won’t do,” she said. “We can’t just-” but whatever it was that she was going to say next, Kevin’s sudden appearance kept her from saying.

“Um, there’s someone here for you,” he said, pointing a thumb over his back to the restaurant table that doubled as a waiting area, apparently. 

The four ghost-hunters sprang into immediate action. Holtzmann went and fetched a recording device, Yates cleared a table for it, while Tolan and Gilbert went to greet their prospective customer. 

“This is where I’m going to have to ask you to give us a bit of privacy,” Yates said apologetically, yet firmly, to the agents. “Most people find it difficult enough to open up about these things, you know. Afraid that no-one will believe them, or will think they’re crazy, you know how it is.” She grinned and shrugged, her dimples showing. “Ghosts,” she said, wiggling her fingers and rolling her eyes with an apologetic smile. 

“Hey _hey_ hey,” Pete said softly. “Maybe _that’s_ it, y’know?”

“Maybe that’s what?” Holtzmann asked.

“People come here to tell you about ghosts, right? Because they hope you’ll believe them?”

“Says so on the cover,” Yates replied, holding up a leaflet. 

Myka’s eyes were round. “Pete, you’re right! So maybe this isn’t so much a truth artifacts as an artifact that makes people open up about things that they think other people wouldn’t believe!”

“Nice,” Holtzmann said. “Sound theory. I mean, if you accept the premise of artifacts in general,” she added generously. She turned to Helena. “I bet you have a lot of things to tell that you think other people wouldn’t believe.”

“You mean other than being the father of science fiction, who is in fact a woman, who should be long dead?” Helena quipped. 

“Yup,” Holtzmann confirmed and kept looking expectantly at Helena, even going so far as to make ‘go on’ gestures when Helena remained silent. 

“Well I guess being cast in living bronze could count,” Helena said dryly. “Or trying to end the world by means of provoking the Yosemite Caldera to erupt. Or possibly trying to _save_ the world by enabling time travel, and acquiring a child ward in the process.” She was listening to her own voice, more and more incredulous, but also quite unable to stop. When she finally managed to close her mouth, there was stunned silence. 

Then a voice rang out from the staircase. “Um. Food delivery?”

* * *

Helena was grateful that Holtzmann was diving into the food that had just been brought up. She did not particularly want the scientist to catch a glimpse of the Farnsworth with which she and Myka were using to call Claudia. 

“Claudia, this place is _full_ of stuff, and _anything_ could be an artifact. Do you have anything more specific?” Myka said pleadingly.

“Well, I’m not really an expert on newly minted artifacts,” Claudia said, her fingers flying over the keys of her keyboard, “so I can’t really figure out a lot of these readings, sorry.” She frowned heavily at something on one of her computer monitors, then looked back at the agents, her eyes troubled. “I can only tell you that it is growing in power at an alarming rate.”

“Growing?” Myka asked, alarmed. 

“Yup. And that does kinda make sense from what you told me. They’re new at this, but they’re doing a job that’s extremely important to a lot of people. If you accept the premise of ‘ghosts’ in general.” Her finger quotes and eye roll clearly stated that Claudia Donovan did not.

Myka scoffed, clearly showing that she shared the sentiment. 

“Be that as it may be,” Helena cut in, “it doesn’t need to be scientifically proven, nor even true, for people to believe in it and create an artifact with that belief.”

“True,” Claudia shrugged. A frown scuttled across her face, only to disappear behind excitement. “Why don’t you hang around when there’s a customer. Try and figure out if there’s anything that these, these _ghost busters_ are using during their interviews-“

“We did that already,” said Pete, who was still chewing on something. “Asked them to show us their interview stuff, notepads and whatnot. Bagged ‘em, even. No results.” 

“When there was a customer there?” asked Claudia.

“Well, nooo,” Pete drawled, “there haven’t been any yet.”

Myka cuffed him on the shoulder, then turned back to the Farnsworth. “You think we might see the artifact in action, Claudia?” 

”That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Oh, and by the way?” the young agent and caretaker added. “Livia says hi. She’s having fun with the Legos.”

“You let-,” Myka began, but Helena knew she had to head off that particular derailment before it took the conversation away from their mission. Whatever Claudia had found for Livia to play with, Helena was positive that it had been triple checked to not have negative consequences.

“I’m not quite certain if they would let us ‘sit in’, as it were, on an interview,” she said carefully. 

“They might let us tape one, though,” Myka replied, her eyes already roaming the room to find cameras or similar equipment. 

“Oh, we’re one step ahead of you, agents,” said Doctor Gilbert from a table over. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear-“

“Yeah, we all were listening in,” added Yates, “this being our business, and all.”

“Also, that device you got there-” Holtzmann was craning her neck to get a closer look. 

“Bye, Claud,” Myka said hurriedly, and snapped the Farnsworth closed. 

“That was the most awesome looking-”

“You said you were a step ahead of us?” Helena said quickly, in order to deter the scientists’ curiosity.

“Yup,” Yates replied and pointed to another corner of the room. “We have been taping our interviews from the beginning. For science, you understand.” 

“We do? Do we let people know about this?” Gilbert asked, arms akimbo.

“Of course!” Yates huffed. “It’s on the flier! See, right … uh… _here!_ ” She pointed to a mess of print so fine that you’d need a large magnifying glass indeed to read it, if not a microscope, Helena mused. “The point is, though, that we can definitely go through these videos and check if we can see anything that looks like an artifact to you.”

“We?” Myka asked pointedly.

“Darling, you didn’t honestly think we wouldn’t be interested in what you call artifacts, did ya?” Holtzmann drawled, draping her arm around both Myka’s and Helena’s shoulders. “Nuh-uh. This is too delicious. It might even be paranormal, too!” She held up one hand, obviously expecting a high-five from Myka, but dropped hand, and arms too, when she realized that both women were glaring at her. “Alright, alright. No offense, ladies.” As she turned away, Helena distinctly thought she had heard her mutter, “I still ship it. From over here, if I have to.”

“This here,” said Yates, holding up a device with two glowing antennae coming together at the top like a flower bulb, “is an instrument that measures psychokinetic energy. It detects any rise both in background PKE, and in directed PKE.” She shook the device slightly, and it began to whirr and beep. “Readings are…” she moved it around slowly in a half circle, then switched it off, “normal for this place and time.” 

“Would it work on recordings, though?” asked Pete, eyeing the device covetously. 

“Ah. Good point.” Yates tossed it onto one of the overfull tables, making Holtzmann wince, and walked to a TV mounted to one wall. “Nope, good old-fashioned common sense for that one, I’m afraid.” She turned around to where the rest of them stood and clapped her hands like a sports coach. “Come on, then, no time like the present!”

* * *

Pete sighed deeply, leaned back, and cracked his fingers behind his back. “Nope,” he said, shaking his head, “didn’t see anything in here at all.”

“Yeah, me either,” sighed Myka. “You, Helena?” 

“Hm?” Helena looked up from where she had been standing with Holtzmann, deep in mutual inspiration. “Oh, I’m sorry, Myka, we were just discussing the possibilities of the para-meter. I’m sure I can find a way to connect-”

“We, honey. _We._ If anything, it’s ‘ _we_ can find a way’, not ‘I’,” Holtzmann interjected. A fleeting frown of annoyance crossed Helena’s face at being addressed thusly. _I shall never do that again to anybody else_ , she vowed to herself.

“Um, ladies?” came Kevin’s voice from his desk. “And gentleman,” he added, nodding to Pete. “There’s someone here to see you.” 

“Ah-hah!” Holtzmann crowed, grabbing five devices, the PKE and para-meter among them, and sprinted towards the entrance area. 

“I, uh, don’t get me wrong, agents,” Gilbert said, “but I really don’t think it would be a good idea if you all were to join us for the interview. Maybe if just one of you…?” She left the sentence hanging hopefully. 

“Oh yeah, yes, absolutely,” Myka agreed. “Pete, keep Helena away from the tables, will you? No offense, Helena,” she shot her a quick grin, “but I know your curiosity, and I’d much rather Holtzmann keep her Bunsen burners, and anything else, unlit, okay?” 

“I understand perfectly, Myka,” Helena replied, trying to sound unruffled. And she did. Her fingers were itching; the tool set she carried in her purse was singing out its siren song even now. She sighed deeply. “Oh well,” she turned to Pete, “maybe you can bring me up to speed about what science thinks of ghosts these days. My fellow Victorians were quite taken with them.”

Myka left them at their conversation, certain that all gadgetry would be safe for the next five minutes or so.

* * *

“Nothing?!” Pete shouted in frustration after they had tried bagging every item that Myka had put on her list during the interview. “But that’s-”

“Thank you, Agent Lattimer,” a familiar voice interrupted him firmly. 

“Mrs. Frederic!” Myka greeted the Warehouse’s Caretaker. “You’re… uh, here, I guess?”

“Indeed,” the Caretaker nodded solemnly. “Agent Donovan and I have-,” 

She was interrupted by a whirring noise, and a blonde figure getting into her personal space with both PKE meter and a para-meter. Helena had to hand it to Holtzmann – the scientist was fearless, even in the face of Mrs. Frederic’s coldest of stares.

“That… you…” Holtzmann looked at the PKE meter, frowned, then shook it vigorously. “How?!”

“Never mind that now, Doctor Holtzmann,” Mrs. Frederic replied, shoving aside the para-meter with the back of her hand. “As I was saying,” she shot the blonde woman another glaring gaze, “Agent Donovan and I have monitored the situation from outside, and we believe we have solved this puzzle.” She looked around the room gravely, then turned back to the Warehouse agents. “The whole floor is the artifact.”

There was a second’s pause, and then everyone started to speak at once. 

“What?!”

“But-“

“Are you-”

“Our headqu-”

“Quiet. Please!” Mrs. Frederic rarely raised her voice, but when she did, it was noticeable. Everyone fell silent instantly. “There have been artifacts of this magnitude before, as you are well aware,” she looked pointedly at the agents. “And they have been brought to the Warehouse for safekeeping. It’s just a … slightly larger operation than usual. Agent Nielsen is on its way here with the appropriate devices, and I will shortly arrange matters so that the transfer can proceed with the minimum of fuss.”

“Hang on, lady,” Yates called out, her finger under Mrs. Frederic’s nose. “You aren’t talking about… about _beaming_ our headquarters someplace else, are you?” 

“Yeah, and what about our stuff?” Tolan was right behind her, arms crossed.

“My babies!” Holtzmann cried out, seemingly torn between shaking her fists at Mrs. Frederic, and throwing herself protectively between the Caretaker and her equipment. 

“The artifact must be transferred as it is at this moment,” the Caretaker said solemnly, to a chorus of outrage. “Please!” She raised a hand. “Calm down, please. We _will_ provide an alternative headquarters, and the means and materials to replace or rebuild your equipment, of course.”

“But-” Holtzmann spluttered, then her eyes grew round. “Oh. Ohhh...” The grin that grew on her face was positively gleeful. “Yeah, no, that’s okay. As a matter of fact, I already have some improve-”

“I’m sure you do,” Mrs. Frederic said, unperturbed. “However, I must ask you to collaborate with Agents Nielsen, Donovan and Wells, to ensure that the same thing that happened here doesn’t happen to your new headquarters.”

Pete groaned. “Mrs. F, I know we’re not supposed to question your judgment, but… you… have you _met_ this woman?” He pointed at Holtzmann, who gave him a slightly offended once-over. “Do you have any idea what is going to happen if and when you put her in the same room with Claudia Donovan and H.G. Wells, and give them toys to tinker with?” 

“Well, I certainly-” Holtzmann began, now running her eyes over Helena, positively leering.

“Thank you for your concern, Agent Lattimer. That is, in fact, why Agent Nielsen will be supervising the operation. And it is also the reason for this very detailed contract,” Mrs. Frederic took a thick folder out of her purse, and handed it to Holtzmann, who shrugged and immediately passed it on to Gilbert, “which will outline acceptable and unacceptable forms of collaboration between the Warehouse and the… ‘Ghostbusters.’”

“Examiners of Metaphysical Phenomena,” muttered Yates, not quite under her breath.


	5. Chapter 5 (September 4, 2013)

“Helena?“ By now, Helena knew this tone of voice. It signaled that Livia had A Question. A Question that was Very Important. A Question that she had been Thinking About. 

Helena had almost forgotten how she had loved Questions when Christina had had them. “Yes, Livia?”

Livia snuggled her small body closer to Helena, who had not forgotten and yet was constantly re-learning how much so simple a gesture could mean to a parent (well, to be fair, guardian. But that was not exactly how she defined herself in moments like this). 

“Are ghosts real?” Livia asked, her voice and body tense. 

Helena was glad that the girl was not looking at her but at the cover of the book they had been reading. This way, Helena had a few moments to contain her eyebrows and keep the surprise out of her voice as she answered, “there is a long answer and a short answer to this, Livia. Which one would you like to hear?”

This, the usual reply to A Question, was a common enough occurrence that Helena could feel some of the tension leave Livia’s shoulders. There were still moments when it showed that Livia was a foster child and knew it. Helena and Myka – the whole of the Warehouse team, really – had tried and were still trying to make life at the B&B seem as normal as possible. But ‘these things take time,’ as everyone kept repeating, and life among Warehouse agents was far from normal in any case. But there were routines, some of them kept almost religiously, and Questions were one of them. 

“The long one, please,” Livia said.

“Even though it’s already bed time?” Helena teased her a little. They both knew that that fact certainly would not change the outcome. 

“Yes!” The child nodded very seriously. 

“Righty-ho, then.” Helena sat up straighter, and tried very hard not to smile when she noticed Livia doing the same. They were Being Serious. A Question certainly warranted it. “First, though, I would like to ask you why you want to know. Is that alright?” Both as a guardian and as a Warehouse agent, it paid never to assume. Especially not when the headquarters of self-proclaimed ghost hunters had been added to the Warehouse only a few months ago, for reasons of having turned into an artifact. Especially not when the Warehouse’s agents had, a few weeks before _that_ , come up with a question-and-answer system among themselves, with the intention of being able to spot impostors.

Livia nodded again. “Uncle Pete told me a ghost story last night, and…” the gray eyes dropped to the bed sheet, and Helena withstood the impulse to ask anything. Livia would get to saying what she wanted to say. And Helena was taking quite a lot of pride in how much more patient she had become. “And I…” the child gulped, then looked up at Helena, her eyes wide as saucers. “I saw one today.”

“You think you saw a ghost?” Helena repeated, to make sure she had heard correctly. When Livia nodded again, Helena asked, “What kind of ghost was it? And where did you see it?”

“So are ghosts real then?” Livia asked, and Helena did smile this time. This child was not to be deterred, and it was a toss-up whether she had gained that trait from her, or Myka, or whether she had inherited it from one of her birth parents. 

“Well, the long answer is that we do not know for certain,” Helena replied. “Many people say ghosts do not exist, but you know that the place Myka and I work in has a lot of things that many people would not believe, either, don’t you?” Livia nodded, her eyes full of endless wonder. It had been Claudia who had taken the child to the Warehouse for the first time, shortly after Livia’s birthday. Of course it had been. Claudia, who would think nothing of building a crude playpen out of pallets that used to carry artifacts. Claudia, who would happily let a child play with the original set of Lego. Claudia “it’s perfectly safe! It makes people super creative! If that’s a downside, you’d better fire me right now!” Donovan. 

“Artie facts. Yeah!” Livia said fervently, giving voice to the wonder she felt. As she had every time before, Helena was unable to correct the child’s corrupted version of ‘artifact’. While she felt very strongly that precision with words was important, this was the one exception she made. “Are there ghosts in the Warehouse? ‘Cause Uncle Pete said that there is a ghost here in the Beembee! He also said that it was a nice ghost and that if I saw her, I shouldn’t be afraid.” 

_Oh dear,_ Helena thought, correcting Livia’s pronunciation of ‘because’ and ‘B and B’ on autopilot. She had thought that Pete had come to terms with the death of Leena, the former host of the B &B, at Artie’s hands. But apparently, not even the fact that the Warehouse team was now supported by their very own psychotherapist was enough to dissuade Pete from his notion that Leena was still around. She knew for a fact that he had badgered Doctor Gilbert until she and Doctor Yates had tested the whole B&B for paranormal activity, and had, when they had come up with nothing, badgered them again until they admitted that their results just meant that there wasn’t any paranormal activity _now_ , not that there had not ever been any. In truth, Helena thought with a wry smile to herself, she had just told Livia that it was possible that ghosts existed, but no one except Pete had seen this particular one. Pulling her thoughts away from this topic, Helena asked Livia, “and was she the one you saw?” 

Livia frowned a little. “No,” she said. “Uncle Pete showed me her picture, and the ghost I saw didn’t look like her at all.” 

“How did your ghost look like, then?” 

“She was smaller than you, but bigger than me. And she had hair like you, but short.” Helena frowned slightly, thinking hard, trying to fight a particular suspicion. Still, she almost choked at what Livia said next. “And she said that she was my Mami.”

* * *

“Myka, I think we have a problem,” Helena said quietly as she returned to the living room. “A parenting problem,” she added, raising her voice so that the other agents gathered around the coffee table would hear. Then she very pointedly gathered her hair into a ponytail. “But first, I need a distraction. Pete, I would like to take you up on your challenge.” 

After Claudia had jumped to enable the somewhat larger second music box the redhead had put together for the living room, Helena quickly outlined what Livia had just told her. The child had seen a non-corporeal person not just once, but several times, without telling anyone until now, and without that person setting off any alarms. This might have been dismissed by anyone else as a five-year-old’s way of coping with the trauma the past months had dealt her (or rather, all five of her years, Helena thought), and/or with missing her birth mother. But this was the Warehouse. Which had Regents that bugged the house in which their agents lived. Which was missing artifacts. Which was still, Helena recalled bitterly, storing parts of Livia’s birth mother’s mind on the Janus Coin. 

“Holy exorcism,” Claudia breathed quietly. “I better call Holtzmann.” 

“Frankly, I highly doubt that this is actually a ghost,” Helena said. “I’d rather suggest we review any and all surveillance videos of the days in question.”

“I’ll do that,” Steve and Myka volunteered in unison. They both grinned briefly at each other, then grew serious again.

“Claudia and I will double-check the security measures,” Artie added, “you’re welcome to join us… Helena.” Hearing him call her by her given name hadn’t ceased yet to give Helena a surprisingly strong, surprisingly warm feeling. It didn’t fail to do so now, despite how unsettled she felt. 

Nevertheless, she shook her head. “I intend to ask Mrs. Frederic again to let me access or at least see the Janus coin, and establish for myself that it is safe,” she said. “Assuming that it has been compromised is the most logical postulation to make under these circumstances.”

“Helena, I don’t think-” Myka replied, but Helena cut her off.

“Frankly, I do not care anymore if I’m going to upset Mrs. Frederic or the Regents about this, Myka,” she said harshly.

“No, Helena, you don’t understand,” Myka sighed. She stood up and stepped closer to Helena, reached out her hand and tugged the hairband out of Helena’s hair with another sigh. Then she took Helena’s hand. “Let me finish?”

Helena took a long breath. “I’m sorry, Myka.” She run a hand through hair, now flowing free. “I jumped to a conclusion.”

“It’s been a while,” Myka grinned. “You’ve gotten better at not doing that, _and_ you’re shaken, so I’ll forgive you.” She kissed Helena softly on the cheek. From the corner of an eye, Helena saw Abigail smiling at them. When the psychologist noticed Helena noticing, she gave the two of them a thumbs-up.

“Oh get a room,” Pete called out, and tossed a throw pillow at them. “Some of us have serious discussions to have here, you know? Ghosts to chase, Regents to wrestle?”

Myka rolled her eyes, then turned back to the room at large, pulling Helena after her until they were both seated on the couch. “What I meant to say, Helena, was that if you went to them and told them about what Livia had seen as a reason for why you want access to the Vault and/or the Coin, they’d know that something was up. Do we want to give that away?”

“ _That_ would only be to our advantage _if_ ,” Artie raised a finger to emphasize the last word, “we were sure of their reaction. If we were certain that that reaction would result in us coming out ahead.”

“It could draw whoever is behind this out of hiding,” Abigail said. 

“Or push them deeper into it,” Steve added, tilting his head. “Maybe it would be a better solution to wait until it happens again and try to trap whoever is doing it.”

“At this point, I’m not willing to believe that trapping one person is what this is about,” Pete said. “Mom told me once that to access anything in the Regent Vault, you had to be backed up by another Regent and get clearance through Kosan.” He looked at their stunned faces. “And… I… should have mentioned this earlier?” He looked at their nods. “Well, we were talking about the security of the Warehouse and the B&B, right? Not the Regent Vault?”

Claudia sighed. “I hate to say that, but you’re right, that _is_ what we were talking about. I mean I do plan to check and probably improve security at the Vault, but I never mentioned that out loud, I guess.” She flopped back into her seat. “Anyhoo, so we’re dealing with at least two Regents here. I can’t see Kosan being willing part of a conspiracy to steal or misuse artifacts, but as we all know,” she said in a cutting voice, “we have multiple artifacts that can make people do something against their will.” She turned on her tablet, and started to type. “Add to to-do-list: check inventory for coercion artifacts and their current whereabouts.”

“What is their plan, though?” Myka wondered aloud. “What can they possibly think they’ll gain by letting Livia see Laura’s hologram – if that’s what it was, even?”

“I can think of several things,” Artie said, counting on his fingers. “A, get the kid to trust that hologram and get her to follow the hologram somewhere where the kid can be kidnapped. Or B, get the kid to tell the hologram security details or other critical information.”

“Or C, maybe it was Laura’s condition for joining whatever conspiracy is going on,” Helena added. “As a Janus Coin hologram, you do have some agency,” she said softly. “Even if it’s only providing or withholding your cooperation.”

“You mean, ‘let me see my daughter or I won’t do what you say’?” Myka said softly, squeezing Helena’s hand. 

Helena nodded. “I can see that being a bargaining point,” she said.

“It could also be a combination of all those things,” Steve said.

“Correct.” Artie’s voice was closer to a bark than it had been in a long time. “We also have to ask ourselves, if they have the Coin, what do they want with it? What do they want with the other artifacts? What is the connecting factor here?”

“So far, when people were after the Janus Coin, it was to reunite the actual person with their memories,” Steve said. 

“Maybe…” Myka said slowly, “Maybe by using Demara’s Wristwatch, they will try to make it seem like the Coin was stolen by someone else.”

“Like using the Thimble,” Claudia interjected darkly. 

“Exactly,” Myka nodded. “Or they’ll try to impersonate one of us in order to gain our trust, or gather intel.”

“I don’t think this is a question of either-or,” Helena breathed. She sat up slowly. “They would profit from both of these things – making it seem as though someone else stole the Coin _and_ putting an impersonator in our midst.” One corner of her mouth came up in a small, sad phantom of a smile. “In fact, if they were to impersonate me, it would make a good deal of sense.” She ticked off items on her fingers, much like Artie had done. “I’m the least trustworthy of us – do _not_ ,” she held up her hands as the others started to protest, “deny that. See things from an outsider’s point of view. I’m the one everyone would point to when asked ‘who among you is most likely to go demented’, aren’t I. No offense taken,” she added. 

Abigail cleared her throat. “I will add that in my regular reports to the Regents, they have always been interested in that particular point. Your trustworthiness and resilience. Both of you,” she nodded at Artie, too, “are still not totally accepted by some of them.” She sighed. “I do what I can, both with my written reports and when they interview me. And obviously the majority believes me, otherwise you wouldn’t still be here. But Helena’s right. They _would_ point at her.”

Helena nodded, smiling briefly at the psychologist. “My point exactly. It wouldn’t be all that hard to construct a narrative along the lines of ‘Agent Wells was scared for the security of her foster child, so she did what she has always done, which was trust no one else to provide that security but herself.’” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes it can be beneficial if people underestimate my ability to change,” she smirked. 

“You’re right,” Pete breathed. “Old Lady Cuckoo _would_ have gone ballistic. Probably kidnapped the pipsqueak and hightailed it somewhere safe, I don’t know, a cave or something.”

“Hyperbole aside, Pete,” Helena replied with an exasperated roll of her eyes, “that is exactly what I would have done.”

“And not-so-old H.G., last Christmas H.G., would have stolen the Janus Coin, or at least tried to, in order to give Laura Sperling back her memories,” Claudia added, and then whistled softly. “That does make a lot of sense, as stories go.”

“Do we know at this point where Laura Sperling, or Kaiser, actually is?” asked Abigail. 

“As a matter of fact, we do,” said a completely unexpected voice. 

Claudia dropped her tablet. “Mrs. Frederic!” she squeaked. “I… we… It’s for the good of the Warehouse!” Claudia words tumbled over each other.

“Relax, Agent Donovan,” the imposing caretaker said. “I am not here to uncover your conspiracy, or counter-conspiracy, as the case might be.” She turned towards the TV on the wall where, when Claudia had flipped the switch on the music box, an automated version of Mario Kart had started to play itself out. “As a matter of fact, I am enjoying a demonstration of our oldest agent’s hand-eye coordination skills and acclimatization to modern times.” 

She held up a hand as Claudia began to say something. “I am in no way here to tell you that Ms. Kaiser is no longer in Germany, but lives in Newcastle, Wyoming, under close but covert surveillance of a Warehouse security detail.” She paused, and Helena was certain it was for dramatic effect. It worked. “What’s more, not all Regents are aware of this relocation and surveillance, which is deeply troubling.” Mrs. Frederic shot a fleeting glance at Pete while she said this, and Myka wondered if the caretaker was suggesting that Jane Lattimer was involved in some way, or if she should be. Then the imposing figure turned her attention back to the TV. “As a candidate for future caretaker yourself, Agent Donovan, you have to understand that the Warehouse, and by proxy its caretaker, has ways of knowing things that are beyond sensors and security cameras. Just like the Warehouse, and by proxy its caretaker, has ways of _defending_ itself that are beyond the Remati Shackle or other such measures.”

“What do you- ohhh,” Claudia said suddenly, her eyes growing round. “Ohhhh, I gotcha. But-,” she looked up at Mrs. Frederic – or where Mrs. Frederic had just been. Obviously, the caretaker had made use of the short moment when everyone’s attention had turned to Claudia. 

“What,” Steve asked, leaning forwards and pointing to where Mrs. Frederic had just been, “was that about?”

“I think that was Mrs. F telling us that she knows, or, or _senses,_ that something’s up with the Regents,” said Pete. “I also got this kind of a vibe that maybe we should ask my mom to tell us what’s up. I mean, she’s been worried a long time now, and she could give us more intel, right?” He looked at all of them in turn. “And we can be sure she’s one of the good guys, people, I mean, come on!”

“I think Mrs. F also wants us to get to Laura before the Evil Regents do,” Claudia added. When Artie opened his mouth, she continued, “no, seriously, Artie. Why else would she tell us that Laura’s back stateside?!”

“She placed great emphasis on the word ‘defending’,” Helena said. “That emphasis, in context, would suggest that she cannot take offensive action, herself. I surmise she wants us to do that, instead. Which would corroborate Claudia’s assumption.”

“But why?!” Artie called out. “Why would anyone be this interested in-,” he broke off, his face going pale. “Tell me you know where her ring is,” he asked Claudia fervently. “ _Tell me_ you know that it’s safe.” The redhead gulped, grabbed her tablet, and feverishly started to type.

Helena had paled as well. “Oh bollocks,” she breathed. 

“Helena?” Myka asked. 

“It’s gone,” Claudia said, and Helena closed her eyes. “Why, what… is it that bad?”

“An artifact that allows the wearer to perceive the emotional state of the person they’re touching, and interact directly with that emotional state?” Artie barked. “You bet your gadgets it’s that bad.”

“Plus a person who, last time we saw her, held not just one, but two Astrolabe-spawned evils,” Pete added. “I mean, yeah, so Mrs. F told us they’d taken care of that, but what if that didn’t work, or didn’t work the way they planned?”

“As far as we know, the Dagger is the only way to counteract the Evil,” Claudia replied immediately.

“Not… quite.” Artie’s voice was hesitant. He avoided their eyes as he went on, “I… oh alright. I looked into other ways of counteracting the Evil. Just to make sure. And there _are_ others, one in particular, that I think would work .” 

“Artie.” Claudia leaned towards him. “Artie, we…”

“We understand, Artie,” Myka said gently. “We just wish you’d told us sooner, that’s all.”

“Which one?” Pete asked. “Artie. Which one?”

“The Jain Flag,” Artie muttered, without looking up. “But…”

“But what, Artie?” Myka said, her voice still very gentle. 

“Ohhh,” Steve said suddenly. “You’re worried that it might not work, aren’t you?” he asked Artie. 

Artie sighed deeply. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Pete asked. “It’s an artifact, right?”

“One of the core beliefs of Jainism is forgiveness,” Steve said. 

Artie nodded. “And forgiveness doesn’t just _happen_. It doesn’t just come upon you. You have to…” for the first time, he looked up, and his eyes met Claudia’s. He faltered, then went on, “You know. Work for it.” Something like a grudging smile flickered across his face. 

“Not just talk the talk, but walk the walk, too?” Pete asked, and Artie nodded. Before he could elaborate further, though, Steve’s voice rang out.

“I forgive all living beings. May all souls forgive me. I am on friendly terms with all. I have no animosity toward any soul. May all my faults be dissolved,” Steve read from the screen of his phone. He looked up at them and grinned. “Sorry, Myka, I don’t have your memory, I have to look things up. That was the Micchabi dukkadam, the Jain prayer of forgiveness. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have to recite-”

“No, no, no, no. Not just recite,” Artie interrupted, waving his hands. “That’s exactly what I meant just now. You have to _believe_ in it. You have to actually _say_ these words, not like you’d recite a poem, but as an expression of what you _feel_ at that moment.” He growled a little. “Much harder.”

Helena exhaled slowly. “Indeed.” She smiled briefly at Myka, then went on, “I do see how that could work, though.”

“‘May all my faults be dissolved’?” Claudia said. “Yeah, that sounds like it would work.” She tapped on her tablet. “And the Jain Flag is actually where it’s supposed to be,” she said triumphantly. “I should probably go get it and start keeping it on me,” she added. “Just in case.”

“No you won’t,” Artie said quickly. “There’s a reason why we don’t-”

“Dude, old man, _you_ have Mary Poppins’ Bag of Holding, why shouldn’t _I_ -”

“So, okay, hang on,” Myka interrupted Claudia and Artie to head off that particular argument. “What’s the plan at this point? What do we even know?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were told, at some point in the near future, that Agent Wells tried to break into the Regent Vault while Livia Sperling sat in Agent Wells’ car,” Helena said darkly. “To make it seem as if I took the Janus Coin when, in fact, it is long gone from the Vault.”

“Or if we were shown actual footage of ‘you’ stealing it,” Claudia added, complete with air quotes. “The Wristwatch _has_ been missing for quite a while.”

“So, someone has Laura’s Ring and wants to use it for purposes unknown,” Myka said, still trying to figure out the motive. “But what do they need Laura for?”

“I think I can shed light on that,” Helena said. “Laura did use it on me, once.” She swallowed. “It was a… harrowing experience. For both of us, I believe.” She squeezed Myka’s hand tightly for a moment, then relaxed a little as her thoughts returned to the present. “If someone were to use the Ring without being prepared for what it is like to actually perceive another person’s emotions, it could easily overwhelm them.”

“So they might want to use Laura to use the Ring,” Pete said, “because they figure she knows how to do that.”

“And in order to actually _make_ her do that, they need either an artifact to make her do what they want or…” Myka’s voice dropped away, and she looked up at the ceiling, twitching slightly as if she wanted nothing else but to rise that very instant, and run up to Livia’s room, and make sure the child was safe. 

Helena knew exactly how Myka felt. “Or leverage,” she agreed darkly.

“And for that to work, they need Laura Sperling with her memories intact, not Laura Kaiser who doesn’t have any emotional attachment to the kid,” Artie said.

“Okay, so we don’t actually yet know who’s behind all this, although we have an idea. We know what they could be planning; we know that they have some of the necessary resources already in place,” Myka reiterated. “How do we stop them if we don’t know who they actually are, what their next move is going to be, and when they are going to make it?”

“Chess,” breathed Helena, and Artie’s head jerked up. 

“We make a move, they think they have an opening and make theirs, we pounce?” he asked her.

She nodded. “That would appear a faster solution than sitting back and waiting for them to make a move that we might not have anticipated.”

“Plus, we’d have the initiative,” said Artie, stabbing a finger in the air approvingly.

“Does anyone know what they’re talking about?” Pete asked in a stage whisper.

“A baited trap,” Myka translated. 

“Ohhh. So what’s the bait?”

“Livia and I,” Helena replied immediately.


	6. Chapter 6 (same night)

“Are you alright?” Helena asked when they were back in their bedroom, back in their bed, back in each other’s arms. Myka had not really commented on how she felt about the plan’s more personal, more emotional implications, and Helena was getting worried. They had agreed not to keep such things from one another, and she knew that sometimes a person needed some time to process their emotions. Nevertheless, she could not stop herself from asking.

Myka sighed deeply, which turned into a yawn. Then, she said, “Yeah… yeah, I guess I am.” Helena relaxed slightly. If Myka said she was, then she was – another thing they had agreed upon. “I mean,” the younger agent continued with a huff, “I don’t necessarily _like_ the plan. In fact I hate the plan. Not because it’s a bad plan per se – but it puts Livia and you into a danger that I won’t be able to do _anything_ about.” She grinned a bit ruefully. “I guess you could call that obsessive, but-,” she shrugged the one shoulder that wasn’t pressed into the mattress, lying on her side as she was. “I never said I wasn’t.”

Helena smiled. “Isn’t that the truth,” she teased. Then, growing more serious, she continued, “you are getting quite good at not letting it interfere with our daily lives, though.” She ran a finger down Myka’s chin.

“Me?” Myka laughed. “I… I guess?” She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at Helena. “Seriously, though, if anyone is doing a good job at growing, it’s you.” She swooped down and pressed a quick kiss to Helena’s cheek, then rose again. “You know, eleven months ago, if you’d told me we’d be here today?” She smiled. “I mean I wouldn’t say I wouldn’t have _believed_ you. I was _determined_ to make this work. And I did believe in _us_ , you and me and everyone. I did believe that we could make it work.”

“But you weren’t certain,” Helena added, with a small smile of her own.

“Of course I wasn’t certain!” Myka readily admitted. “How could I have been? But you know what, Helena: I _wanted_ it. I wanted to give that poor kid a loving home, a stable home, with people she could rely on. And I wanted…” she stopped, blushed, and dropped her eyes to the sheet she was lying on.

“You wanted a loving, stable relationship with a certain person in that home?” Helena asked gently.

“God yes,” Myka breathed. When she looked up, her smile was stunningly bright. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, getting swept off my feet by a dashing Victorian lady with a grappler gun is awesome and one of my most cherished memories. But you know what’s even better?” She settled herself at Helena’s side, curled into her, waited for a moment until Helena had finished wrapping her arms around her. “This,” Myka continued, the arm that she’d flung across Helena’s midriff tightening slightly. “Getting used to this, _being_ used to this. Knowing that _this_ is a thing we can have, not stolen moments anymore, but an actual, working, successful relationship that our friends know about and are okay with. No secrecy. No hiding. Not going behind anyone’s back – I do very much appreciate your vow to never do that again, by the way,” she added, pressing a kiss on Helena’s jaw. “I don’t think I said it at the time, but I do.”

“It is important to me,” Helena replied, kissing the top of Myka’s head in turn. “And I can tell you the exact moment I realized that it was important, the exact moment I knew that I, as you say, _wanted_ it, too, and was willing to do anything to achieve it.”

“Oh?” Myka said, a smile audible in her voice.

“You were standing a flight of stairs above me, a child sitting on your shoulders, and you both looked so ... _happy_. Like you didn’t have a care in the world, even though I knew that you are well aware of all the cares the world can throw at a person. Even though I was quite certain that no matter that she was only four years old, Livia had already dealt with too many cares in the world. And I thought that I wanted to relearn how to do that, how to be in such a place again – not free of care, but able to set them aside for a moment.” Again she pressed a kiss on Myka’s hair, certain that they both remembered a conversation in this very room, equally late at night. “You see, Myka, wanting to grow over my pain and my grief – I had started that before. Long before and had failed again and again. But having an actual, constant, _living_ motivation outside of me, independent from my thoughts or emotions but certainly and deeply dependent on my actions – _that_ was new. At that instance, when I saw you smiling down at me – for a moment, it was bliss, sheer bliss, and I dared to hope I could make it stay, or at least share in your bliss. And then the pain came back, like an old but no longer quite welcome acquaintance, and I realized I had a choice.” Helena paused, collecting her thoughts. “I could run from that pain, ignore the fresh pain that my running would deal me, or I could stay and have more such moments, make new memories to soothe that pain when it would next return.”

“I’m glad you decided not to run,” Myka said softly, tightening her arm around Helena’s waist. “So very, very glad.” She looked up at Helena, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not sure whether I should be upset, though, that it wasn’t only me who made you change your mind but me with a child.”

“A child that, if not _for_ you, wouldn’t be _with_ you,” Helena replied primly.

“With _us_ ,” Myka corrected, sinking down again. “And for the record, I’m not upset. I totally understand that running from me would have been something you’d actually contemplate. Wouldn’t have been the first time, anyway.” Helena thought to herself that it was testament of how far the two of them had come that Myka’s words almost did not sting. Nevertheless, when Myka nestled closer in an obvious attempt to soothe any pain her words might have dealt Helena, Helena found herself gladly accepting that embrace. “You might have run from _me_ – maybe. But you’d have never run from a child who needed you,” Myka added softly, and Helena nodded mutely.

When Helena had found her voice again, she continued, “I knew from the beginning that choosing to remain was choosing a path of difficulty, of hard work, of a different kind of pain; pain that I would need to bear and not buckle under. Of responsibility not just for myself, but you and Livia. Of what I would do to you and the child if I failed on my path.” Helena raised her head slightly, and Myka took the cue to look up as well. The kiss they shared was sweet, gentle, loving. “Astonishing incentive, this knowledge was and continues to be,” Helena said when their lips parted. “Before, I had asked so many things of you. Asked and asked – forgiveness, understanding, friendship. Trust. I knew I had to stop asking and start working for those things, like you told me to.”

“Helena, you know I’ve always given-,” Myka began, but Helena put her fingertips on Myka’s lips.

“I know you did. I know you do. But I’d like to think, to _know_ , that I do earn them. I used to scoff at anyone who said that relationships were hard work. Flirting, falling in love, that always came easy to me. I didn’t understand why anyone said it needed to be hard work.” Helena’s eyes held Myka’s, willing her to understand. “The friendships I had – they existed because it was always the other person who did the work. The relationships I didn’t have, didn’t come about because I did not put in the necessary work.” Seeing an understanding spark in Myka’s eyes, Helena smiled. “And then along came you. And I thought it would be easy, because it had always been easy before.”

“But it wasn’t,” Myka said, with a rueful smile of her own. 

“No, it most definitely wasn’t,” Helena agreed. “And I didn’t understand why it wasn’t and didn’t have the necessary mental and emotional means or, or instruments, to make it better.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled softly. “Quite apart from, you know, an insatiable rage and insurmountable grief that poisoned my thoughts whenever they weren’t occupied with you.” She paused for a moment, astounded, choked, by the fact that she could talk about this as easily as that. 

Myka was obviously thinking along the same lines, because she shook her head, still smiling. “Listen to yourself,” she said dryly. 

“What is it you Americans say at occasions like this?” Helena asked herself. “Oh!” She grinned at Myka. “I know, right?!” she exclaimed, with as close to an American accent as she could come. 

Myka, predictably, groaned, but never lost her smile. “You are impossible.” She kissed Helena’s jaw. “You are phenomenal.” She kissed Helena’s cheek, as high up as she could reach. “You are H.G. Wells, and in my arms and in my bed,” she squealed on the last words, launching herself upwards off the bed until she was close enough to kiss Helena’s lips. 

Helena felt herself laugh, felt her laughter bubbling within their kiss, and knew that she had chosen right. Yes, a relationship was work, hard work, sometimes overwhelmingly so. For all her claims about her intellect, her prowess of this, that, or the next thing, Helena had never worked quite this hard on anything else – except possibly her time machine, she mentally corrected herself. But that had been quite different in scope, kind, and motivation, and the hard work she was doing now did not only feel saner, much, much saner, but had the added benefit of having results that were immediately observable, and immediately beneficent. Not only to herself but, what was more, to the love of her life, and to the child they both were raising.

And that, too, was hard work; again much harder than what Helena had done before. Raising Christina, as she had told Myka so long ago, had been done with the help of a governess and house servants. Raising Livia was a task that felt squarely on hers and Myka’s shoulders. While the rest of their Warehouse family readily and willingly helped– Myka Bering and Helena Wells were the two main caregivers. 

It was hard work – there still were moments, every single day, where Helena had to battle her demons, be they her fear of losing Myka, or Livia, or both; her fear of making a mistake that would cause hurt to Myka, or Livia, or both; her mortification when she, inevitably, made such mistakes; and, last but certainly never least, her wealth of conflicting thoughts and emotions whenever she thought of Christina. And she thought of Christina often; compared Livia’s words, deeds or developments to Christina’s, compared raising a daughter alone (if with hired help and a brother who tried to help) to raising a daughter with a loving and supportive partner; wondered if the two children would have liked each other, wondered if Christina and Myka would have liked each other; jerked awake at night from nightmares, filled with a dread that could only be abated by sitting next to Livia’s bed, watching her breathe. Jerked awake at night from nightmares, filled with dread that could only be abated by reaching out to Myka and finding her still breathing. Jerked awake at night from nightmares filled with clammy terror that could only be abated by reaching out to Myka and finding that she could reach, could move, could sense another person at her fingertips.

Helena knew that Myka shared at least part of her fear of unspeakable things happening to Livia. Helena knew that Myka took the greatest care to understand Helena’s tangle of emotions when it came to Livia, to living as a family, to fearing things that Myka herself had not experienced and hopefully never would. If Helena was honest with herself – honesty to herself being another of those vows she had taken – she had, in a way, expected the younger woman to act in this manner; everything she knew about Myka had told her that being supportive and understanding was something Myka excelled at. What Helena had not expected was the care that the rest of her family took – Pete, Arthur, Claudia, Steve, Abigail; even the Regents and Mrs. Frederic to an extent. 

The realization that her emotions and fears were valid, that they were not just something to be humored by a loving partner, but something that she had a right to express, a right to address, a right to work through, as the modern phrase was – that realization had hit Helena like a steam hammer. When she had attempted to convey that amazement to Myka, the younger woman had taken a while to understand, and that had amazed Helena even more. As a woman raised in Victorian times, Helena found she had a hard time of wrapping her mind around the idea that emotions were a thing to be shared, to be understood or at least strived to be understood, to be assuaged, even. From her earliest memories onwards, emotions and the issues that arose from them, had been at best something ignored in polite company, at worst something darkly hinted at. 

And now Helena found herself in a situation – in a family, she corrected herself – full of people who listened, who gave their best to understand, who shared their opinions or voiced their support, who, at every step of the way, with every action that they took, showed Helena that they respected her emotions, her motivations, her agency. Helena was certain that her friends before the Bronze – Wolcott, Caturanga, to a degree her brother – could possibly have given her some form of support if she had even thought to ask them (for, as she had learned in these past months, support depended on the supported to accept, not just on the supporter to lend). She knew that, in their own ways, these men had loved her, cared about her, worried about her, and would have happily helped her if she had let them, and if they had known how. But she also realized that the latter aspect, the knowing how, was not something Victorian people, men more so than women, had excelled at. Certainly not in the way her new-found family did. 

Among the great many things that Helena Wells found herself grateful for, this was certainly not the smallest, not by a long stretch. 

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Myka said, pulling Helena out of her musings. 

“Whatever for?” Helena wondered aloud.

“Back… well, back in Germany…” Myka began, then broke off again. Helena had not expected Myka to be thinking of that, and raised her head to look at her partner in bafflement. Myka, propped up on her elbows and regarding the blanket as she was, did not notice, but simply went on, “I just… I made that decision, that we would take in Livia, and… and I didn’t even ask you. I mean, Laura didn’t, either, but… I can’t apologize for her, can I. But… I mean I never asked, and…”

Helena chuckled. Apparently, that reaction was unexpected to Myka – the younger woman’s head flew up, eyes landing on Helena’s amused face with a veritable crash of disbelief. “Please,” Helena raised a hand, “please don’t misunderstand my amusement, Myka.” She lowered her hand and took Myka’s fingers in it, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not chuckling over your apology. In fact, I appreciate it. It’s more that your… timing seems a bit off on that particular topic.” Myka’s frown deepened, and Helena quickly continued, “Myka, If I resented that decision in any way, shape or form, don’t you think I would have brought it up by now?”

Myka’s face cleared, understanding chasing away the scowl. “Ohhh. Gotcha,” she said, then tilted her head. “It’s just… I mean, I know how important it is to you to make your own decisions about your life. You had to fight so hard for that kinda agency, all the time, and then I go ahead and make…” Myka grimaced ruefully and dipped her head so she could rub the back of her neck with her free hand, “basically the biggest decision of your life, our lives, for you, right? Without consulting you at all. I just…” she looked up at Helena, head still tilted to its side, fingers still cupping her neck. “You really are okay with it?”

“I am,” Helena said firmly. “As a matter of fact, Abigail asked me about that very matter, months ago, in one of our first individual sessions.”

“She did?” Myka sounded astonished for a moment, then shook her head at herself and laughed softly. “Of course she did.”

Helena nodded. “Frankly, until she had brought it up, I hadn’t even given the matter much thought.” She raised her free hand and tucked a lock of hair that had been shaken loose by Myka’s motion back behind Myka’s ear. “Abigail helped me untangle how I felt about it – back in the beginning, in October of last year, I simply felt that anything you asked of me, I would do, trusting that you would only ever ask things of me that you were confident I could handle.”

Myka blushed. “Meaning you trusted me while you relearned to trust yourself?” she asked softly, calling back to another conversation, almost a year ago in Germany. 

Helena nodded again. “Back then, especially after that morning in the Cologne train station, I would have done _anything_ you asked, without question. I had completely given myself over to you, utterly thrown my fate upon whatever you thought was right.”

Myka raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “‘Back then,’ huh?”

Helena matched her easily. “Yes, back then. Back when I needed it,” she clarified, and Myka’s smile grew gentle. 

“I do understand. You said back then that you needed to let go of your pain bit by bit, that you needed to find your footing.”

“Precisely,” Helena agreed. “In retrospect, what I believe I did was… delegation, as it were.”

Both eyebrows shot up now, green eyes under them sparkling with amusement. “Delegation?”

“Yes,” Helena affirmed with a chuckle. “There were so many matters claiming my attention, my energy, my concentration.”

“So you delegated the matter of making life-changing decisions to me?” Myka sounded still amused, but there was a hitch in her voice, and her breath visibly paused when Helena simply nodded. “You… are you serious?”

“Oh yes,” Helena breathed, trying to find another reassuring smile, and failing when she saw how full her partner’s eyes were. “I decided to put my trust in you for a great number of things, and direct the attention and energy freed thereby towards matters that I fervently wanted to address. That is what delegation means still, these days, is it not?”

Myka reclaimed her hand from where Helena was still holding it. She dropped her face into both her hands, stilled for a moment, then shook her head and flopped over to look at the ceiling. “Yeah.” She laughed breezily. “Yeah, it is. Helena, I…” she shook her head again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I do, my love,” Helena replied immediately, shifting and aligning her body with Myka’s new position until she was sure her partner’s whole attention was captured. “Two words: It worked.”

“It worked?”

Helena nodded, love filling her eyes. “With your help, and the help of Livia, Abigail, and the rest of our little family, I do find myself in a very different, much more agreeable place,” she said, and watched her partner’s face break into a true smile. “Just imagine, Myka,” she went on in a low, intent voice, “where I would be, where we all would be, if we had never gone to Cologne, never delivered that letter, if you had never made that decision you just apologized for.”

Myka’s smile faltered. “You’re not saying you wouldn’t be here at the Warehouse, I hope. After what you did to help? Guarding the Astrolabe, and everything?”

Helena scoffed. “I did precisely what the Regents wanted from me. I am convinced that, had we, had _you_ not changed things, they would have continued asking for similar services.” She looked at their still-clasped hands. “And I fear I did not have the conviction, back then, that I was at liberty to ask them to treat me differently.”

“You still felt you deserved their punishment,” Myka nodded her understanding.

Helena inclined her head. “It took a while to grow beyond that notion,” she admitted. 

“You have, though. Right?” Myka asked, nudging Helena’s shoulder with hers. 

It was Helena’s turn now to raise herself on her elbows. Her eyes roamed slowly, traveling from curls she cherished above many other things, to shoulders she knew could carry any weight, along a neck that she knew, by now, was sensitive as anything (and how she cherished that knowledge), across a mouth that had captivated her with its expressiveness from the start, until brown eyes finally met hazel-colored ones and noticed the half-exasperated appreciation in them. Helena remembered to take a breath, chuckling at herself. “I have,” she said simply. “And I am positive that I would not be where I am, had your decision not started us onto this path.” She leaned forward and kissed Myka, a gentle, loving caress meant to reassure rather than arouse. “So, while I understand why you apologize, and appreciate that you apologize, I am happy that you decided the way you did.” She kissed her again, lingering a little longer this time. “Acceptable?” she asked, and was rewarded with a smile breaking out on Myka’s lips underneath hers. 

“Absolutely,” Myka breathed. “Carry on, Wells.”

“As you wish.”


	7. Chapter 7 (September 10, 2013)

“Please calm down, Agent Wells.” Adwin Kosan’s voice was stern. His breath steamed in the cold night air outside the ValuMart.

“I shall most certainly calm down – once we have established that the Janus Coin is where it should be and hasn’t been tampered with,” Helena Wells spat at the tall man in front of her, and Jane Lattimer sighed. So it _was_ about the Coin. Again. She heard the Englishwoman continue, “You know perfectly well that I-”

Shelby Jeong, one of the newer Regents, and not the best fit for the job in Jane’s opinion, interrupted Helena almost immediately. “We are aware of your misgivings about the use of the Coin, Agent Wells, yes. Though it is, frankly, none of your business, be assured that its safety has not been compromised.” 

“Then how do you explain that a woman looking like Laura Sperling has shown up in Univille, approached Livia at the local playground, and claimed to be her mother?” Jane saw Helena ball her hands, gloved against the cold, and knew that the agent was fighting not to yell. “A woman whom no one else saw, and who, according to Livia, appeared out of and disappeared into thin air?”

“We are looking into the matter as we speak, Agent Wells. We are most certainly glad that you brought it to our attention, but,” the look Kosan gave Helena was almost gentle; certainly more so than Jeong’s, “this is where your involvement ends.” 

He nodded to Jane, indicating that she should be the one to accompany the agent to her car. Jane Lattimer approved of this since, of all the Regents present at the time, she was probably the one who could at least empathize with Wells’ situation and remain civil with her. Jeong was fuming – Jane knew from firsthand experience that Jeong was the kind of Regent who saw agents as subordinates who shouldn’t interfere or even ask questions. Only Vault Keeper Keeler seemed sympathetic to Helena’s motives, but then the man had, for years now, suggested that the Vault be removed from the ValuMart – a suggestion which Jane herself supported, but which, so far, hadn’t gained enough other Regent votes to actually be implemented. God, she missed Theodora, especially in moments like these.

As they walked away from the store, both women wrapped themselves more snugly in their respective coats. Over the past few months, Jane and Helena had worked on building a stable working relationship. Jane happily babysat Livia when no member of the Warehouse team was able to take over that duty from Helena or Myka, trying not to think too much of how she longed for a grandchild of her own. Neither of her children had a partner and neither of them seemed to be making plans to start a family anytime soon. 

“Helena,” Jane finally began, slowing her pace as they reached Helena’s car. She was a bit surprised to see the booster seat in the back, and Livia fast asleep in it, holding on tightly to her favorite stuffed rabbit toy. She hoped, grimly, that Helena was done doing ill-advised things tonight. “I understand that you’re shaken by what Livia told you she saw. However, trying to access the Regents’ Vault without clearance…” she shook her head, “was not a good idea.” ‘Especially in your case.’ Jane did not need to say it – she knew Helena could hear the unspoken words. 

Eyes unfocused, Helena stared at Livia in the back seat a moment longer, then turned to Jane. “Thank you for your understanding, Jane,” she said quietly. 

Jane nodded. “Something I’ve been meaning to tell you, and I might as well say it now,” she smiled at the agent, “is that I think that the two of you are doing a great job fostering Livia. Which isn’t easy to do in the first place,” she raised her hands, palms facing out, “much less with both of you working the jobs that you do. In my job,” she smiled again, briefly, but genuinely,” I meet quite a few foster parents and adoptive parents. I know the issues, the problems, the challenges they face. Believe me, Helena. I know the problems you two face, too, and not just because you’re fostering.” Her eyes were piercing, trying to convey her meaning to the agent. “Let me repeat: you’re doing a great job. _All_ things considered.” She knew she had succeeded in getting her message across when she saw Helena blush – a first.

“I understand,” the agent managed. “Thank you.”

“I guess you felt both threatened with regards to Warehouse security and on a personal level, as most foster parents would if a birth parent suddenly appeared. Quite apart from your misgivings about the Janus coin?” Jane tilted her head, making this a question rather than a statement, and Helena nodded mutely. “If I recall correctly, most of the current additional security measures around the Warehouse and the B&B are your designs?”

“And Agent Donovan’s and Nielsen’s,” Helena added.

Jane nodded. “Of course. And all three of you have given valuable input on Regent security, too, for which we’re equally grateful. Between you three, I should wonder if anyone authorized could get their hands on an artifact as secure as the Coin, much less someone without the right clearance.”

Helena grimaced. “That’s what we aimed for, anyway.” She crossed her arms and looked at her feet. “Jane, I… I apologize.”

Jane smiled wryly. “I’m pretty sure you’re only apologizing for _how_ you did it, not for _what_ you did-” immediately, she held up her hands in appeasement again, “which is fair, given that your concern is for our safety and the security surrounding our most dangerous artifacts. It’s a very valid reason to call on the Regents.” She grinned. “Besides, it’s a treat to see Kosan in pajamas.”

Helena could not suppress her snort. Then she tilted her head, her face completely serious again. “Jane, you know how important Livia is to me,” she said, and waited for Jane’s nod. “And you must’ve read my Berlin report, so you know that Livia’s mother… became a friend to me.” Again, she paused. Again, Jane nodded. “If the Janus Coin is safe,” she continued, “we can’t rule out the possibility that it was her… other self, the person she became after her memories were erased, who came to the Bed and Breakfast. And if it was that version of her,” Helena hesitated, shot a furtive look behind Jane to the ValuMart building, “Jane, she must have had help to find us. Someone must have told her about her daughter’s whereabouts, at the very least. I simply… want to cover all possibilities, do you see?”

Jane nodded gravely. “I do see. And we will look into that. I don’t know if Mrs. F ever told you, but when Laura Sperling was sent back to Germany, she wasn’t alone. She doesn’t know it, but we’re keeping an eye on her. I will make enquiries and tell you what I can about her, okay?”

Helena’s eyes had widened, then narrowed over the last sentences. Jane could see the sense of what she was saying hit the other woman. Then Helena sighed deeply and looked at the ground. “Thank you, Jane,” she replied.

“I’ll even go a step further and ask Irene and Adwin not to tell the other agents about tonight,” Jane sighed. “But I do want you to talk to Myka about this.” Again, she raised her hands, regretting that she hadn’t had the time to put on gloves. She, too, looked back to the shop briefly – of course all the others had retreated to the back room’s warmth by now. “I know, I know, she’s not your babysitter,” Jane went on. “I agree; you’re a grown woman and so is she. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that you’re here, and that kind of thing doesn’t bode well for any relationship. If you feel this strongly about the matter, she should to know. Right now.” She paused, trying to gauge the agent’s mood. “She trusts you implicitly, always has. I’m not sure if there’s _anything_ you could do to break that trust,” she took one step closer to Helena than was strictly necessary for their conversation, “but I’m advising you to not test that theory.”

She saw Helena swallow, but was not prepared for the English agent’s next words. “Speaking of testing theories, Jane – could I ask you to join me on my way back to the Warehouse?”

* * *

“I’m sorry for the subterfuge, Regent Lattimer,” Steve Jinx said as he pulled to the curb, put the car in park, and removed first one glove, then the other, then Harriet Tubman’s Thimble. He gave Pete’s mother a lopsided grin. “I remember you, but I don’t think we’ve ever officially been introduced,” he said, reaching over his right hand, “Steve Jinks, Warehouse agent.” And the less talk about the Metronome, the better.

“Call me Jane,” Jane replied faintly, obviously feeling the same way about it. She cleared her throat, and her voice grew stronger as she asked, “What the hell is going on here?” 

When she released his hand, he used the moment to deactivate the holographic projection artifact from the Roddenberry shelf. Livia’s sleeping form, complete with booster seat and stuffed bunny, vanished into thin air. Then he turned his attention back to Jane, and saw that her face had set in a grave, extremely concerned frown. He sighed, put the car back in gear, and started driving – and talking.

Knowing that Claudia had disabled all listening devices they’d found inside their cars and certain that he’d felt no deception when Jane had told him about Laura Sperling still living in Germany, Steve told her about what they’d found out so far, as per the plan the Warehouse agents had hatched the previous day. Then he brought out the Farnsworth Pete had given him and called Claudia, informing her of how his mission had gone. 

“Excellent,” Claudia’s voice came from the speakers, and Steve grimaced as the double feed of that, and Claudia’s voice in the small earplug he’d been wearing, created a sharp, high-pitched screech in his ear. He quickly removed the plug – he didn’t need H.G.’s prompts anymore anyway. 

After a lengthy discussion, the Warehouse team had decided that it should not be Helena herself who’d try to lure the Regents out of hiding, but someone disguised as her. The Englishwoman herself was in the Warehouse, along with Claudia and Abigail; even though he could see only Claudia over the Farnsworth, Steve was pretty sure all three of them were hanging out at Artie’s desk, staring at the little round screen. Livia was with them, of course, probably asleep in Artie’s bed – for all the energy the kid had over the day, she did sleep like a log, Steve knew.

“Jeong was lying,” he repeated, to make sure everyone around either end of the Farnsworth conversation heard and understood, “definitely lying, when she said that the Coin’s security hadn’t been compromised.” 

“I knew it,” Jane hissed. “I had a bad vibe about her from the start.” She shook her head and propped her elbow up on the car’s window sill, gnawing her thumb. “We are driving to where Laura is secreted away, right? Not back to the Warehouse.”

Steve nodded, and added, “Pete, Myka and Artie are on their way there, too.” 

“And so’s Fredericson,” Claudia called out. Jane swore under her breath “I put a trace on his phone, and he’s moving fast.” Claudia laughed harshly. “Hard to believe anyone would be stupid enough to use their personal phone and not a burner phone, but-”

“Oh, Fredericson isn’t the brightest,” Jane muttered darkly. “Shelby, now, if anyone’s the brain of the operation, she is. Ruthless, too,” she added, “I wouldn’t put it past her to,” her grimace looked as if she’d bitten a lemon, Steve thought, “fall prey to the siren song of artifacts,” she finished. No longer nibbling her thumb, she was now tapping her fingertips against her mouth, clearly thinking hard and fast. “Is she still using her phone?”

“Nope,” Claudia said immediately. “I didn’t know she was even at the Vault until Steve said she was.”

“Damn,” Jane said softly. Then she snapped her fingers. “Clifford. She’s the new Regent Security Chief, I’ve known her for over twenty years, she’s straight as an arrow. We need to make sure she’s okay, and that she’s informed of this. Then she can tell her people to not let anyone in with Laura until we get there.”

“On it!” Steve heard Claudia’s fingers tapping away on a keyboard.

“Oh I didn’t mean for you to email her, Agent Donovan,” Jane says with a snort. “We’re old school, she and I. I was going to call her. With my phone. You know.” She plucked it from her pocket and wiggled it, then frowned. “Unless that’s not safe?” 

“No, no, no, no,” Claudia squealed, “no, you’re good to go. Oh! Hey! That’s Myka – hang on, I’ll patch us together.”

“I realize I might regret knowing the answer,” Jane whispered as they waited for Claudia to work her juju, “but how on earth were you able to fool me so well, Agent Jinks? And not just the accent, you had everything down, mannerisms, facts, reactions.”

He tapped his now-plugless ear. “I had help all the time; H.G. and I had talked about possible topics before I left, but without her in my ear I’d’ve been totally clueless. The accent – well, back at the ATF I was the liaison for SOCA; I spoke with those blokes,” he grinned as he emphasized the word, “almost every day.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m good at undercover.”

Jane nodded at him, approval in the clear lines of her face. “I’d heard as much after the Sykes affair. Seeing it in person tonight – excellent job, Agent Jinks.”

* * *

“We’re too late,” Myka grated and thumped the steering wheel. “Damnit!” They took a left and slowly drove away from where three dark SUVs were parked in front of the address Claudia had provided them. As soon as she could, Myka pulled over to the curb and stopped.

Pete already had his Farnsworth out. “Claud!” he called. “They’re already here.”

Myka heard Claudia swear under her breath. “Jeong must have alerted Fredericson,” the youngest agent growled. “I bet he came here right away. Or he was here to begin with. Either way, not good. Steve’s listening in, by the way, and he’s got your mom with him, Pete. She’s clear. H.G. and Abigail are sitting right next to me, and Livia’s fast asleep upstairs. Just, you know, FYI.”

“My mom?” Pete asked incredulously, then shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Well at least she’s safe, I guess. You’re still coming here, right Steve-O?” After receiving a terse confirmation, he went on, “good, we’re gonna need the reinforcements. Plus, a Regent on our side might help with the security people.”

“Actually, Pete, Jane’s on the phone with Chief Clifford of Regent Security right now.” Claudia sounded a bit awestruck. “She’s trying to get her to stand her people down. I’d never have thought of that. I guess sometimes being the authority and not the underdog is a good thing?”

“Excellent!” Pete called out, thumping the dashboard in front of him. “Go-go gadget Regent Mom! Hey, Mykes, can you still see them?”

“Barely, yeah,” Myka said, squinting through the night-vision binoculars. “There’s at least seven security personnel, there’s Laura between two of them, one guy in civvies – yup, that’s Fredericson. Plus two more security officers. They’re getting into their cars, three SUVs; Artie, can you take the binoculars and keep eyes on them? I’m turning around so I can follow them when they drive off.”

“Claudia, you heard that?” 

“Loud and clear, Pete. Three cars, nine security at least, plus one Regent, plus Laura Sperling.” More swearing from the speaker made Myka frown as she turned the car in the right direction. “Guys, get this. Fredericson actually rented a helicopter under his own name. I can even provide coordinates where they’re supposed to rendezvous. I mean, I like when the enemy is stupid enough to use their own names, but seriously?”

“Aw man, a chopper?” Pete groaned. “And it’s the three of us against ten people plus Laura, how are we supposed to do that? Claudia, _please_ tell me the rendezvous point is across the state line so that we have time to call for reinforcements, or at least time for Clifford to call her people off?”

“Nooope,” Claudia said, “across town is what you get. I’m sending the coordinates to your GPS right now.”

“Can she do that?” Pete asked under his breath. 

“Of course she can do that,” Artie called from the back seat. “She’s Claudia.”

“Forget I asked,” Pete whispered. 

“Will do, Pete,” Claudia sang out. 

Pete winced. Then he remembered that Steve was patched into the conference call, and said “So, Jinksy. How’d things go down, and how come my mom ended up in your car?” 

Steve brought them up to speed while Myka turned the car around and started following the route to the coordinates Claudia had sent them, taking care to keep her distance from the red dots that signified the other cars. 

“The timeline doesn’t really work, though,” Claudia said after Steve had finished. “There’s no way in hell they’d be able to put that large of a security detail, plus a chopper, on the ground in this short amount of time.”

“Maybe… maybe they’d been planning to make their move today anyway, and we just about got the drop on them,” Myka said. 

Artie groaned from the back seat. “Steve,” he called out, “get to us ASAP, understood? Jane, any news on Clifford?”

“She’s still talking, and talking fast,” Steve said. “GPS tells me we’ll be with you in about fifteen minutes. Hang in there, alright?”

Myka, glancing at her own GPS once more and noticed something. “Guys, they’re almost at the helicopter. We gotta get ready.”


	8. Chapter 8 (same night)

“The wide-beam Tesla is our best bet right now,” Artie said as they drove west, keeping a good distance from the three other SUVs. It had been a – well, not an invention of Helena’s. “Nicolai always had trouble focusing the beam,” the Englishwoman had said, and had installed a switch on Pete’s Tesla that would allow the wielder to choose a focused or a scattered beam. “Take out all of them,” Artie ordered briskly while rummaging in his bag, “sort it all out afterwards.” 

“Provided we get a clear shot,” Pete said, “which I doubt. Nine officers means they have options. They’ll have someone guarding their backs, plus someone covering the chopper, at least.”

“Well, we have the one modified Tesla and a standard one,” Myka replied. “And I’m sure getting a hit on the helicopter would stall the engine, and that-,”

“-would ground them! Awesome!” Pete sang out, holding up a hand for a high five. 

“Steering wheel, Pete, sorry,” Myka explained, shooting him a quick grin, trying to keep her jaw from clenching. 

“Artie, high fi- never mind.” Pete’s hand flopped back to his thigh. He squinted at Artie, who had half his head sticking in his bag at this point. “Hey hey hey, you got anything in that bag of yours that would help? Another Tesla, maybe, or… I don’t know, a gladiator’s fishing net?” He perked up a little. “Spiderman’s gloves?” He made webbing-shooting motions, complete with sound effects.

Artie nodded irritably. “Of course I do. Brought a few Tesla grenades, which I’ll hand to you in exchange for the modified Tesla, because you’re a better throw than I am.” He held out his hand, then flexed his fingers a couple of times in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“Aww man!” Pete reached over the Tesla. “I was looking forward to that,” he moaned. 

“Well, look forward to a couple three-pointers instead,” Artie replied, pressing two round, mesh metal objects into Pete’s hands. “Claudia, status!”

“They aren’t quite at the helicopter yet,” Claudia immediately replied. “You’re almost on top of them. They have two cars blocking the only access road, the third is parked behind that. Like an arrow pointing at you. The helicopter is behind that. I can’t make out actual individuals, though.”

“Don’t worry, Claudia, this is great,” Pete replied. 

“We’re here,” Myka said tersely. “Pete, get those grenades out there.”

“Alright,” Pete nodded tersely, rolling down his window. He cursed when a gunshot rang out, and snatched his hand back inside. “For real? They’re shooting already?” Myka swerved to present less of a target, and he bumped into her, hard.

“As will we,” Artie barked, “save the monologuing for afterwards, just take them out, alright?” 

“But I’m good at talking down bad guys,” Pete complained as he regained his balance, “And Myka freaking saved the world by talking down a bad guy! Who she’s now dating!” With a quick grin at Myka, he watched her for a moment in order to coordinate the best time to send one of the grenades flying towards the car on the right. “Booyah!” he exclaimed as the grenade exploded behind it, taking out the three officers that had been using it for cover. “And the left, there she goes, BAM!” Three more security officers dropped to the ground and then the agents’ car was almost nose-to-nose with the black SUVs. 

Myka pulled closer to the left-most car for cover, then she, Pete and Artie jumped out, Teslas in hand. They closed in on the third, empty car, and Pete nodded at Myka, confirming that he had her covered. She crouched behind the passenger seat door, then took a step towards the hood of the car, and fired a clear shot at the helicopter, disregarding the five figures hurrying towards it. 

The Tesla beam was sucked into something like a pannier holding a copper and brass contraption that one of the security officers was carrying on his back, and the helicopter’s engine did not, in fact, stall or die. 

“Shit!” Myka yelled. “Artie, is that what I think it is?”

“Portable Tesla targeting coil,” Artie confirmed, shouting over the sound of gunshots, “switch to regular guns; Teslas won’t be of any use here.”

Pete already had his gun in his hands and was aiming at the coil-carrying security officer. “Let’s see if I can take it out of commission,” he grated, firing three rounds.

Five yards away from the running figures, the bullets hit something in the air that caused it to shimmer. “Force field!” Artie called, scanning the grounds. “Ah-ha! Be ready!” he told the other two agents, running towards a football-sized object on the ground at the side of the road. Pete continued to target the security officer, while Myka, now also using her gun, aimed at the helicopter’s engine, wondering if she could take it out with a bullet if Teslas wouldn’t do the trick. Then, sparks flew and distracted her for a moment when Artie bagged the object. The air shimmered again, and both Myka and Pete pulled their triggers immediately.

The officer carrying the coil contraption was dodging now, but at least the chopper was still on the ground. Then its engine sound changed, and Myka realized, “It’s slowing – the blades are slowing! Clifford must have told the pilot to shut it down!” And indeed, a short moment later the doors of the helicopter opened, not to take on any passengers, but to unload two more security officers who proceeded to point their weapons at the people hurrying towards them, shouting something that the Warehouse agents couldn’t understand over the sound of slowing rotor blades. 

“Your mom must’ve gotten through to Clifford,” Myka shouted to Pete.

“Yeah, but _they’re_ not getting through to _them_ ,” he replied, pointing at the five people still advancing on the helicopter. One of the security officers was still turned towards the agents, the other two, including the coil carrier, were holding their guns low now, obviously having been instructed to not shoot at the helicopter or anyone close to it.

“Close in,” Pete called out, gesturing quickly towards Artie, then the helicopter. “Let’s give ’em more to worry about.” He briefly looked behind Myka to the empty street. “I hope Mom and Steve’ll get here soon, too.” 

“William... Hodgson’s... dumbbells,” Artie wheezed as he got closer to them, pointing at his large doctor’s briefcase. “Weightlifting was such a... refuge for this author that... when he invented... a force field for one of his... novels, he fused that... idea with how safe he... felt whenever he.. was working out, so-,” whatever else he wanted to say had to wait, though, because they were finally within earshot of the people in front of the helicopter. They slowed their approach, all three well aware of the security officer still targeting them. The woman’s gun swerved between the three, trying to cover all of them at once. 

“-can’t take orders from you anymore, sir,” one of the helicopter crew said to Fredericson. “I repeat, release the hostage and put down your weapon, sir, or I’ll have to...”

“Have to what?” Fredericson spat. “Hostage – what about that word don’t you understand, you idiot? Now get out of my way and tell the pilot to start up the engine again or Laura Kaiser’s death will be on your head.”

“Pete,” Artie hissed from the corner of his mouth. “Cable!” He nodded subtly towards the small Tesla targeting coil where indeed, a cable was connecting the bottom of the contraption to something that was hidden behind it. 

Pete nodded minutely. Then he flashed Myka a glance, and, when he’d caught her eyes, glanced first at Artie, then down at himself, then at the female officer covering them, then at Myka, and finally at the coil-carrying officer. He and Artie would distract the female officer; Myka was to head for the coil carrier and unplug the cable, and then he and Artie could use their Teslas. Myka nodded in turn.

Screeching tires behind them, and Artie shouting “Finally!”, meant that there wouldn’t be a better distraction anytime soon, so off Myka sprinted, dodging left, left, and right, rushed past an open-mouthed female security officer, reached a coil-carrying male security officer, unplugged the cable that hung across his back, ducked as Tesla blasts zapped by above her, holstered her gun, took out her own Tesla, stepped towards Fredericson and Kaiser-

And found her face pressed against Laura Sperling’s hand. Looked into gray eyes full of malevolence. Felt herself suddenly drown in-

Insufficiency. 

She knew, without a doubt, that she wasn’t good enough, that she wasn’t able to accomplish this. She knew she never had been and never would be. Bleak, leaden inadequacy spread through her limbs, slowing, numbing, whispering. _Don’t even try. Why should you? You don’t have what it takes._ Her father’s voice. Teachers’ voices. Instructors’ voices. Her mother’s eyes, disappointed, reprimanding. Sam’s eyes, lifeless, accusing. Artie’s eyes, burning, disdainful. Pete’s eyes, hurt, reproachful. 

_No_ , she whispered, and only heard the words inside her mind. _No._ She wanted to shake her head, but found herself immobilized, locked into place, hypnotized by gray eyes boring into hers. 

They found every reproach anyone had ever uttered towards her, every accusation she’d made against herself, every mistake she’d ever made or even be afraid of making. They dug them up, dusted them off, hung them out, shone lights in all their corners. _Look at what you did! Look at what you made happen! You’re not good enough, you’ll never be. Just give up and go away._

Behind the insidious whisper, Myka could hear the roar of anger, of voices she knew too well, raised in tirades she had heard too often, and in the maelstrom that was supposed to make her falter, she suddenly found her feet.

 _No!_ Myka told them calmly. _I have lived with your words, your voices, your accusations all my goddamn life. Anything I’ve done, I’ve done to silence you, to prove myself to you, to get you to smile at me for once._ With an almighty effort, she raised a hand to grip the wrist of Laura’s hand on her cheek. “Until I came to the Warehouse,” Myka said, out loud and deadly quiet. “Until I started making decisions based on what _I_ approve of, not people who only think they know me.” 

Emotions now battered her, stronger than before – self-loathing, shame, disappointment – but she saw that they weren’t hers, felt that they were imposed, knew that they had no bearing on who she was or what she could accomplish. And then it threw brown eyes at her, brown eyes under a ponytail, brown eyes so full of pain that the only solution was to end the entire human race, brown eyes Myka ought to have read better, understood better. And then it threw a hologram at her, thin air and light where skin should have been, sad eyes and hunched shoulders and defeated expressions Myka ought to have hugged, held, comforted while there still had been someone to comfort, to hold, to hug.

* * *

“Steve! Steve!! We can’t see a thing, dude; tell us what’s going on! H.G. is going ballistic here!”

“Myka took the security people down, Pete got Fredericson, but then Laura got to Myka. Claudia, I think Fredericson must’ve given Laura back her memories already. They’re both rooted to the spot, Laura’s hand is on Myka’s cheek-”

“So she’s wearing the ring?”

“I’m not close enough to see, but there really isn’t any other explanation, is there?”

“Agent Jinks, Clifford is telling me that she has detained Jeong and will be questioning her together with Kosan. Apparently Jeong and Fredericson intended to use Laura Sperling to subdue other people and make them do their bidding, up to and including the highest branches of the government. It is _imperative_ that Laura Sperling and her ring do not get away from us, understood?”

“Understood, Regent Lattimer. Right now, Myka’s blocking my shot-,”

“I’m circling around them, Steve, I’m almost there.”

“Thanks, Pete.”

“Man, I’m not sure about tesla’ing them. There’s this weird energy glowing around them, d’you see that?”

“Hang on, son, I got an idea. Jinks, you still got that projector on you?”

* * *

If only Myka had been better. If only she had been good enough. A better friend, a good enough agent. It was all her fault. Yellowstone, Janus Coin, holographic Helena and Walter Sykes killing people to get at her, Emily Lake’s death, all Myka’s fault.

“Myka?” A thin voice, a child’s voice, quavering, doubtful, called out from behind her, and Laura’s face in front of Myka’s eyes contorted for a moment, Laura’s hand on Myka’s cheek slackened for a moment, and Myka’s hand lost its grip on Laura’s wrist and landed a few inches higher, on Laura’s hand, on Laura’s fingers, on Laura’s ring.

And Myka found herself plummeting, plunging into a turmoil of roiling, towering, inarticulate rage that was battling a thin veneer of control, a timid but stubborn sliver of resistance – Laura, what remained of the person Myka barely knew, was fighting the Evil roaring inside her, clinging to a thin voice, a child’s voice, and the memory of a face seen across a distance, a face and voice Myka knew must have been a projection, knew, too, to keep that knowledge hidden well within her.

 _Laura_ , Myka’s thoughts reached out. _Help me help you_ , she sent out to the weary woman. 

**She’s taking your daughter away from you,** the rage thundered across her words. **And you let her! Let me _hurt_ her, let me reduce her to-**

“Myka, I’m scared, please stop.” Livia’s voice was cutting Myka to her bone. She would never do anything to scare Livia, never do anything to hurt Livia, never would allow anything to happen to- 

And suddenly Myka found herself facing, in her mind, the image of Helena, crying, Helena, completely dissolved in tears, Helena with anguished face, accusing eyes, battling fists, ‘you let her die, you could have saved her, Myka, you should have saved her, she’s dead, my baby, my baby’s dead and it’s your fault, your fault, your fault-’

 _How dare you,_ her thoughts hissed. _How dare you use this to try and throw me off? How dare you!_ She stared at the image until her rage burned it away. 

_Myka_ , Laura sighed. So tired. So small. _Myka, please_ -

 **Yes, Myka,** the darkness around Laura repeated, mocking, taunting, **Myka please Myka just go away Myka just die alone in a ditch somewhe** -

 _Myka please help me_  
  
And all of a sudden there was connection, there was confluence, there was mutual support and uplifting and purpose and uprising and a deafening roar that didn’t need ears to be heard.

 _I forgive all living beings_ , Myka remembered. _May all souls forgive me. I am on friendly terms with all. I have no animosity toward any soul. May all my faults be dissolved._

 __Fury battled her senses now, flinging no-longer coherent images at her, her parents, dead and illuminated by Jack the Ripper’s Lantern; Pete, right side of his face smashed in, left eye empty and unseeing; Helena, broken and wailing across a dead child’s body-

 _Myka?_  
  
_Join me,_ Myka encouraged Laura. _Ignore this and help me. This is not about_ fighting _this rage. Fighting it is no use; it’s part of you. But that also means that you write the script. You set the boundaries, you make the rules. You can overcome this, not by fighting it, but by embracing it, forgiving it, disarming it, okay?_

 _I understand._ And Myka knew Laura _did_ understand, could see the understanding clear as day in how the woman so incomprehensively linked to her perceived it all as a whole now, no longer as entities separate from herself.

 **You do not! I will crush you; you will never tame me! I shall hide like I hid before, and you won’t even know the things I’ve done until you find your life in ruins and everything and everyone you ever loved is BURNED and turned to ashes.  
**   
_You’re wrong._ Such conviction, such simple truth shining forth. _I know you now. I know you, and you will not ever be able to hide from me. I will hold you-_

__**NO  
** _  
-and know you-_

__**NO  
** _  
\- and take responsibility for your past deeds-_

__**YOU WILL NOT  
** _  
-and work to undo them, and do what I can to prevent them from being done again._

__**NO!  
** _  
_ “Myka?”

A gruff voice was calling out, trying to get through to her – _Artie!_ Myka thought. Reaching out her free hand behind her, Myka felt him put a rough, linen-like cloth into her fingers. She found Laura’s empty hand, pushed. _Take this,_ she instructed, _hold on to it._ She released her grip only when she felt Laura’s hand take hold of the flag. _I forgive all living beings,_ Myka prompted. __

 _I forgive all living beings,_ she heard Laura’s voice repeating in her mind.

_May all souls forgive me._

_May all souls forgive me._

_I am on friendly terms with all._

_I am on friendly terms with all._

__Something was missing, though. Myka could feel the rage recoiling, but it was ... asymmetrical. Misshapen. Tilted.

Someone entered her personal space, and a rough, low voice mumbled, “I gotta be part of that, too, Myka.” An arm reached around her, finding the hand that Laura held the flag in.

Another reached up on Myka’s other side, found her fingers that were still clenched around Laura’s fingers. Three hands intertwined themselves; the newest set of fingers small, thick, rough of skin but gentle of touch. 

_Artie_ , Myka gasped. 

_Half of this is my responsibility_ , he replied, and his mind was, like his hands, equal parts rough and gentle. _Laura, du hast das lange genug getragen. Lass mich helfen. Bitte. Myka?_

 _I forgive all living beings_ , Myka repeated, realizing her cue, and now two minds echoed her words. _May all souls forgive me._ Two pillars of rage, one enormous, roiling mass of anger recoiled in disbelief. _I am on friendly terms with all._

 __ **YOU CAN’T!** it screamed. **Think of all the things we did! Think of all the things we will do! You-  
** _  
I have no animosity toward any soul._ Two minds reached out, examined, understood, accepted, embraced. 

And then, from somewhere outside, music wound into their joined minds, a melody so simple, so sweet, so alluring, that they each turned eagerly towards it, no other desire valid and necessary right now than to do what the music asked. 

**NO!** Part of the billowing rage shouted. **No! Don’t! Deceit! Sham! Not real!**

Myka felt Artie’s body turn away slightly, as if he had somehow figured out where the music was coming from and wanted to get closer to it. Part of her resented him for it, but the much larger part that wanted to just follow him, follow his lead overruled it. 

**Stop!** The other rage cried out too. **It is a trick, they are tricking us! Don’t listen!**

Myka shook her head wildly. It wasn’t a trick. It was wonderful. Her hands dropped, her head tilted back, Laura’s hand slid from Myka’s cheek, and now Myka was alone again, and could concentrate fully on the music Fredericson was producing from … some kind of long recorder, or penny whistle, Myka thought fleetingly, and then stopped wondering. 

“You didn’t think I’d come without a backup artifact or two?” Fredericson said after taking a breath, and Myka shook her head again, wishing that he’d stop talking and start making music again. “Now, before I continue playing, I want you all to walk back to your cars and lock yourselves in them. I’m not an unreasonable man, and that’s not an unreasonable suggestion, now is it?” He smiled at them all encouragingly as he stepped up to where Artie, Laura and Myka still stood right next to each other.

Myka nodded, and saw from the corner of her eyes that Pete did, too. Artie, on her other side, still had his hand on Laura’s cheek and was furiously gnashing his teeth, but that was Artie for you, wasn’t it. There was no helping some people. She walked slowly backwards, not wanting to turn her eyes from Fredericson for fear she’d miss the moment when he’d start playing again. Instead of putting his recorder to his mouth again, though, he held out a hand to Laura. Myka frowned for a moment when she saw the purple glove on it, feeling like her head was full of cotton fluff somehow, but Fredericson smiled at her again, and she relaxed. It was okay. Everything was good. He just wanted Laura to give him something and then he’d continue making his music.

“No!” Laura shouted in a snarling, hoarse voice, and Myka scowled. How could she refuse, and why did she do so in such a jarring manner? 

Myka breathed a sigh of relief and anticipation when Fredericson set his instrument to his lips again. The music was so beautiful! And if Laura, or Artie for that matter, didn’t want to cooperate, well, Myka could make them. Myka would make them. For Fredericson, and the music. 

“No!” Laura yelled through the music, a discordant, harsh noise that jolted Myka and made her angry. “Stop! This is a trick!”

Myka was glad when Fredericson stepped closer, when he took a deeper breath, when the music grew louder, certain that surely, surely Laura would realize now how wonderful it wa-

Laura lunged, grabbing the instrument from Fredericson’s hands, and the music stopped with a squeal so strident Myka yelled in dismay. 

“Laura!” she heard Artie bark, “here! Give me that! Quick! Don’t even breathe, just give it here!!” 

Fredericson lunged for Laura as she half-turned towards Artie and was borne to the ground by a flying tackle from Steve, with a shout of “Lies! All lies, your music – nothing but lies!!”

Laura stumbled, the pipe flew out of her hands, shot up in the air, turned end over end as it came down – and sizzled mightily as it dropped into the neutralizer bag Artie was holding open for it. “Gotcha!” the old agent roared. “Now, where were we?” 

“You will never make me go away, old man,” Laura spat at him, eyes dark – literally dark, Myka saw, filled with the same blackness Myka had perceived in Laura’s mind only moments ago. 

“Laura,” she called, her voice low and urgent, “Laura, I know you’re in there, and I know you know what to do.”

“You know nothing, Myka Bering,” the short woman sneered. 

“Oh, you’re done for now,” Myka heard Pete mutter somewhere behind them, and suppressed a chuckle at her partner’s faith. 

“How about, I know that the evil inside of you helped you withstand the Pied Piper’s Pipe, how about that, huh?” Myka said intently. “I know it only did that so it could go on with its own evil plans, but it did help you!” 

“Says the woman who brought a child to this fight.” The sneer seemed frozen on Laura’s face now, more of a rictus than an actual expression of emotion. 

“I never did, and you know that, too, Laura,” Myka replied. “Livia is with Helena, and you know that Helena would never let Livia come to any harm.”

“That’s right,” Laura said, and this time her voice sounded far softer. She stood frozen for a moment longer, and then her head snapped up. In one fluent motion, she stepped forward and cupped Artie’s cheek. Her eyes, gray, clear and determined, met Myka’s. “What was it that you wanted me to say?”

“I forgive all living beings,” Myka said immediately.

Laura smiled, and repeated it, chorusing with Artie, “I forgive all living beings.”

“May all souls forgive me,” Myka went on, smile growing on her face as she watched Laura’s features mirror the struggle that Myka knew was going on inside the small woman, a struggle that Myka knew Laura would win.

“May all souls forgive me,” two voices repeated.

“I am on friendly terms with all.”

“I am on friendly terms with all.” Artie sounded a bit ironic on this one, and Myka’s smile grew wider. 

“May all my faults be dissolved,” she prompted the final line, and heard Artie clear his throat heavily. Laura waited patiently for him to finish, and they both repeated the final plea of the Prayer in unison. 

“May all my faults be dissolved.”

Laura and Artie stood swaying for a moment, eyes locked, heads close, not quite an embrace, not quite not one. It was Laura who sagged first, knees buckling, and Artie who caught her, lowering the both of them unto the ground and gently talking to the woman in his arms. “You did great,” Myka caught, and, “we did it,” and part of her wanted to be jealous because when had Artie ever said something like that to her? But a much larger part of her knew that one, Artie felt like this about her too, and two, Laura needed to hear this far more than Myka ever had.

She busied herself talking to the security officers with Jane while Pete and Steve man-handled Fredericson into a car. When she saw Artie and Laura walking slowly towards the SUV Myka, Pete and Artie had come with, she walked over to them, ready to offer her help, and saw Pete veering to join her. 

“-Piper of Hameln?” Laura asked, sounding stunned. “Um, sure, I guess.” She swallowed. “Hey, um, do you have other artefacts from those fairy tales, too? The, uh, donkey that shits gold coins, for example?” She grinned as she saw Myka and Pete approaching. “Or the table that creates food? Very handy, both of those.”

“A table that creates food? Artie, do we have that? Why’s it not in the B&B?” Pete asked immediately. “Oooo, I bet there are a crap ton more artefacts from the Brothers Grimm!”

“Actually, the Brothers Grimm didn’t-,” Artie began.

“The Brothers Grimm didn’t write-” Laura said at the same time. They both broke off, looked at each other, and Laura laughed out loud. “They just collected most of these stories, and streamlined them,” she told Pete. “My grandma told me she was the, um, great-daughter?”

“Granddaughter,” Pete supplied.

“Thanks. Granddaughter of the granddaughter of Dorothea Viehmann, who told stories to the Brothers Grimm. That’s how I know,” she grinned at Artie. “But how do _you_ know?”

“It’s my job to know,” Artie said brusquely, then did a double take. “And… maybe…” he nodded to himself. “Maybe you could help me with that,” he added. “Us. Help us,” he amended, looking at Myka and Pete, noticing their stunned expressions. “What?!” he snapped. “Pied Piper got your tongues?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numo's Little German Phrasebook: 
> 
> Laura, du hast das lange genug getragen. Lass mich helfen. Bitte. - Laura, you carried this long enough. Let me help. Please.


	9. Chapter 9 (September 12, 2013)

“I ... I _would_ like to stay,” Laura Sperling said, hunched shoulders and downcast eyes making her seem even smaller than she was. “But...” she took a deep breath and looked first at Helena, then at Myka, ignoring the other people around the table. “I don’t ... I _really_ don’t want to upset Livia.” The rest of her breath wooshed out in a long sigh. “I’ve seen how happy she is with you.” Laura’s gray eyes fixed on her hands, clenched in front of her on the table. “I know she’s been with a lot of different families before coming here, and she seems to feel so at home here. I ...” Her eyes came up to meet Myka’s, and Myka could clearly see the anguish in them, the longing, a heartache so old it seemed to have always been there. And then resolve strode in, spreading from Laura’s eyes to her face, to her whole posture. “I would never want to upset that. I don’t want to do anything that’s bad for her and living with you is good for her, and I’m not going to endanger that by sticking around when I shouldn’t.”

Myka swallowed hard. She _had_ been afraid of Laura claiming Livia and taking her back to Germany. She _had_ been- a hand, icy cold, grasped hers forcefully, and she looked quickly to her right, where Helena was sitting, and realized that her fear had been nothing, _nothing_ , compared to Helena’s. At least not if the death grip of Helena’s fingers was any indication. Helena’s next words, though, came as a surprise. 

“As a matter of fact I think we can come to a mutually beneficent arrangement,” Helena said slowly. “Laura, I... I have come to regard you as a friend,” she continued, meeting the other woman’s eyes intently. “I wouldn’t have suggested staying here if I didn’t think it would be good for you – and I still stand by that opinion. Not only have you gone through your own personal hell and need support for that, but you have gone through a kind of hell that most people simply cannot fathom, and there is no better support for that than right here.” Helena’s hand circled around the people at the table. “I don’t mean to imply that this’ll be easy – it will not, trust me.” She flashed a smile that was both rueful and appreciative. “But I do think that, for one thing, you aren’t going to find more understanding anywhere else, and for another, we have become good at being a-” she smiled at Myka with a warmth that almost overwhelmed the curly-haired woman, “a patchwork family, is it not?” When Myka nodded speechlessly, Helena turned back to Laura. “This family is large and peculiar and adding yet another into the alloy will, I believe, only make us stronger.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Steve who spoke up next. “I agree,” he said quietly. “I mean sure, we gotta set some rules, talk about expectations and roles and whatnot, but if I know one thing, it’s that we’re up to that.” He grinned at Claudia and then at Helena. “Oh, and if I know another, it’s that Helena is a really good judge of character.” There was stunned silence around the table. “Seriously? That’s news to you?” He nodded his head at Helena. “Don’t get distracted by her abysmal judgement – no offense, H.G., that’s just what it was – of what she herself should or should not have been doing-”

“None taken,” Helena replied deceptively evenly, eyebrow high on her forehead. 

“- but,” Steve continued, with a quick smile at her, “when it comes to knowing another person’s strengths and weaknesses, knowing if they’re up to a task, stuff like that, I’ll trust her judgment any day. And hey,” he grinned at Helena again, “your calls about yourself _are_ getting better, from what I’ve seen,” he finished, to more stunned silence.

“I can only speak for this patchwork family...,” Abigail’s hand pointed at everyone in turn, and she smiled at Helena as she repeated her words, “and not for you, Laura, of course.” Her black eyes landed on Laura’s gray ones. “You gotta make your own decisions based on what you think is best for yourself, including how you’d feel if you were this close to your daughter on a permanent basis. I do agree with Steve and Helena, however, that this family is strong enough to integrate you, provided that we all come to an agreement on rules, roles, and expectations, as Steve said. Like, would you be joining this family as Livia’s mother? Would you want her to know that?” Abigail tilted her head when she saw Laura shake hers violently. “You would want to wait to tell her?” When the German woman nodded, Abigail continued, “how long, then, and what does everyone else think about this?”

The discussion that followed her question was intense. Laura would take over many of Leena’s more… domestic tasks in the B&B, greatly relieving both Abigail, who simply didn’t find them to her liking, and the rest of the group, who were cautiously looking forward to the ‘passable’ cooking skills Laura was claiming she had. On top of that they would make an attempt to see if Laura, using her ring, could help finding storage locations for artifacts as Leena had done. They all agreed that this would only happen if using the ring for this task was something Laura felt up to, if it was something that would even work. At all other times, Laura would be in possession of the ring as she was right now, housed in a small locket on a necklace. While Warehouse agents or officials might ask Laura to use her ring in other ways, she would be free to refuse at all times, and no one else would use it except her. 

Laura also very quickly agreed that she wouldn’t reveal herself as Laura’s mother in the foreseeable future and that they would talk this point over again when Livia grew older. Livia had a right to know who her birth mother was, Myka felt, but it was imperative to all of them that Livia should, most of all, feel secure in the love of her foster mothers and the rest of her patchwork family. Laura had a right to be around her birth daughter, but also a right to recover, mentally and emotionally, from all the trauma that she’d been through. Abigail volunteered her professional help for that matter, and Laura gratefully and tiredly accepted.

Myka thought that the way Laura agreed to everything they asked or suggested plainly underlined how strongly the German woman wished to be close to her daughter. But she also could see, quite clearly, how much Laura wanted to find a way to make this the best solution for Livia, not for herself. And quite frankly, when, at the end, Abigail asked for a show of hands in favor of Laura staying under the aforesaid conditions, Myka’s hand rose precisely because of that. 

Hers wasn’t the only one. In fact, the decision was unanimous, and Myka could clearly see Laura’s breath hitch and her eyes growing wet. Then that tearful gray gaze snapped to the room’s double doors, and changed to an expression of puzzlement. When Myka followed Laura’s eyes, she gasped, and again, her gasp wasn’t the only one. 

Leena stood in the doorway, smiling at them, slightly transparent, all the colors of the rainbow surrounding her in soft swirls. Myka wondered briefly if that was how Leena had seen people’s auras – if it was, then this must be Leena’s aura, she thought, and marveled at the display of colors, subtle and cheerful at the same time. 

“Leena,” Artie said in a choked voice, having half-risen from his seat. 

Pete echoed him, his expression far more happy. “Leena!” Then, to the rest of the room, “I knew it! This is so awesome!” He pumped his fist. “Ghost! You’re a ghost! You’re not gone! High five! I mean, can you even?”

Leena looked at him, and her smile changed a little, growing sad when she shook her head. She walked towards him, stood in front of him for a moment, translucent hand half outstretched, then walked on until she reached Laura’s chair. Here, she reached her hand out fully, towards the German woman who was looking at her with wide open eyes. Myka saw Leena’s gaze drop to Laura’s locket, saw Leena’s head nod at it meaningfully. 

“Laura,” Helena said hoarsely, “I think you should consider employing your ring once more.”

The small woman looked at her briefly, then her eyes showed her understanding. “Oh! Yeah. Um, hang on,” she said to the ghost in front of her, and Myka stifled a laugh that felt almost hysterical. 

When Laura had finally nestled open her locket, and put her ring on her finger, she extended that hand to Leena, as if to grasp that hand that hovered so insubstantially in front of her. 

“Should I call Holtzmann?” Claudia whispered to Myka. 

“Don’t you dare,” Myka whispered back fervently. She didn’t stop Claudia from taking out her phone and activating its camera, though.

There was a crackle of energy as Laura’s hand interacted with Leena’s translucent one. Leena’s aura changed, grew stronger, extended towards Laura’s hand. 

The gray-eyed woman laughed softly. “Warm,” she breathed. “Um, if… if you want to know, this feels warm, and not threatening. Not at all,” she added. 

“Good,” said Artie, who was sitting next to her, fingers wrapped so tightly around the edge of the tabletop that his knuckles were white. “Keep telling us what’s going on, okay?”

Laura nodded. “I can… kind of feel her?” she replied. Then a smile broke out on her face. “Leena,” she said with certainty, then asked, “right?” and smiled again, when Leena nodded. “Um, hi,” Laura added. 

Leena smiled back, then looked down at where her aura still swirled around Laura’s hand. She tilted her head, and the colors grew slightly up Laura’s arm. Leena met Laura’s eyes again, head still tilted as if in question. 

“Oh, sure,” Laura answered Leena’s wordless request, then told the others, “I think she wants to use me to speak to you?”

“Um, not to be the party-pooper here,” Steve said hesitantly, “but do we think that that’s a good idea? Can we be sure that Leena’s intentions-”

“Dude,” Pete interrupted him, his eyes flashing with anger. “This is _Leena_ we’re talking about.”

“It is,” Claudia chimed in with a heavy sigh, “but I think Steve’s right, she-”

“You forget something,” Laura said softly. “I wear my ring. I can tell.” She smiled at Leena. “It feels different, of course, but close enough. It’s okay. Leena just wants to say something. I’m sure.” 

“I agree. This is exactly what she wants,” came a new voice from the other doorway.

“Mrs. Frederic!” Claudia almost dropped her phone.

The Warehouse’s caretaker ignored her, staring intently at Leena’s translucent form instead. Her usually unreadable eyes held, Myka thought, a ton of emotions at seeing Leena again. 

Leena, for her part, had turned to look at Mrs. Frederic when she’d arrived. She smiled at the older woman brilliantly, then turned her attention back to Laura, and tilted her head again.

“Um, go ahead, I guess.” Laura’s smile was uncertain, but her voice was firm. 

The colors of Leena’s aura wandered up Laura’s arm until they reached her shoulder. They proceeded to spread not just to Laura’s head, but to her torso as well. When they reached Laura’s face, her eyes dropped shut. She frowned for a moment, seemingly fully concentrated, then her features slackened, and rearranged them to an expression Myka knew so well, from mornings sitting around a breakfast table, from late-night conversations over the contents of a raided fridge, from reminiscing about shared shelving adventures.

“Leena,” she breathed.

“Hello, Myka,” Laura said, her voice suddenly devoid of her German accent, and softer than it had been. Opposite her, Leena’s lips formed the same words. Then the two figures turned, so that Leena stood behind Laura’s chair, and they both faced the table.

“Sweet here-and-now,” Claudia whispered. When Myka looked at her out of the corners of her eyes, she saw tears fill Claudia’s eyes as surely as they filled her own.

“Claudia,” Leena turned her smile towards the youngest woman at the table, and to the man sitting next to her. “Hi. Hey Steve.”

“Hi Leena,” Steve said, finding and squeezing Claudia’s hand. “You’re missed.”

“I know. I miss you too, all of you.” Leena turned to the woman seated next to Steve. “Hey Abigail, I’m Leena. We haven’t really been introduced.” Leena’s smile turned impish, and Myka realized with a pang that she missed Leena, too, missed that smile, missed that easy acceptance. She saw Abigail swallow and return Leena’s friendliness with a hesitant smile of her own. 

“Mrs. Frederic,” Leena had reached the apex of the table, where Mrs. Frederic stood and watched motionlessly. 

“I’m so very sorry, Leena,” the caretaker replied instantly. “I failed-,”

“Please, don’t be,” Leena said, her smile fading to sad acceptance. “I knew what I was getting into, even though I wasn’t an agent. I knew the risk, and I know that you always tried to keep me safe, even when you strangled me half to death.” There was that Leena smile again, Myka thought, suppressing a sob at the realization that even though the wording and inflections of these consolations were all Leena, the voice that uttered them was not. “I died doing my job, trying to protect people I care about deeply,” Leena continued through Laura. “Trying to protect you,” she turned to Artie, seated on her left. “I’m sorry, Artie.”

“Y- _you’re_ sor-,” the gruff voice flared up in typical Artie fashion. Then the older man caught himself. His shoulders slumped and he looked at the table, deflated, defeated, sad. “Leena…” he whispered hoarsely. “If anyone, _anyone_ should be sorry, that’d be me.” He looked up at the figure standing behind Laura’s chair. “And I am. Leena, I…” he broke off, his mouth forming unvoiced syllables, his features full of anguish. 

“I know,” Leena said, and raised her hand towards his face, Laura’s following the motion seamlessly. “Laura,” Leena asked, “may I?” 

Myka watched as Laura’s features briefly bore Laura’s expression, showing her trepidation, but also her sorrow at what she was witnessing. She pressed her lips together, and nodded once, quick, determined.

And Leena’s aura around Laura’s hand cupped Artie’s cheek, and Myka realized that Laura had done that before, barely two days ago, if with very different intentions. She held up a hand when Steve and Pete tried to intervene. “It’s okay, guys,” she said, “I know what they’re doing. Just… just give them a moment, okay?”

The colors of Leena’s aura swirled around Artie’s cheek, reflected both in his glasses and in the wetness of the eyes behind them. Myka cleared her throat, and suddenly everyone around the table realized that maybe they shouldn’t pay so much attention to that. Everyone, that is, except Pete, who was looking at the scene playing out next to him with naked longing. 

When Leena finally let go of Artie’s cheek and realized Pete’s attention, the impish smile returned. “Jeez, Pete,” she chuckled. “I can’t even say if those puppy eyes are for me, or if you’re just thinking of my pies.” Then her smile softened. “C’mon, Pete,” she said. “I know you miss me, and that’s okay. But you gotta let go.” She took a step closer to him, and Artie bent out of their way as both she and Laura reached out for Pete. “People dying doesn’t mean we didn’t love them enough, Pete,” she said, one outstretched finger touching his jaw. 

“I know,” Pete choked through a throat constricted with unshed tears. “I know, Leena. But I miss you so much, and…” He shrugged helplessly.

“I know,” Leena replied gravely. “And I feel honored that you’re holding on to me so much. I know I won’t ever be gone completely, not with you thinking of me, not with all of you remembering me,” her eyes roamed quickly around the table, then returned to Pete’s anguished face. “Isn’t that enough?” she breathed. “Can that be enough for you?”

Pete’s mouth worked for a moment, and Myka reached across the table and grabbed his hand fiercely. He shot her a short, grateful look, and inhaled sharply, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll try,” he said. “As long as you know that no pies will ever, _ever_ match yours.”

“Deal,” Leena said gently.

The last thing to vanish was the finger that was still on his jaw, long after Laura had withdrawn her hand.


	10. Chapter 10 (September 18, 2013)

“Ich will Pooh-Bear!!” The wails were clearly audible throughout the house. 

“Shit outta luck, kid,” Claudia muttered to herself, her eyes fixed on the contraption in front of her on the dining room table. 

“Hm?” Laura asked, placing a bowl of cookies in the table’s center. Claudia eyed them greedily – Laura’s claims that she was a ‘passable’ cook had been more than proven in the past six days. The wailing grew a bit louder as, upstairs, a door opened.

“The pipsqu-, I mean Livia, wants the German Pooh-Bear book read to her,” Claudia explained, “and the only people who can do that aren’t here – Artie and Helena are finalizing the plans for the annex with the Regents,” she replied to Laura’s tilted head. “No one else here speaks German.” The redhead did a double take. “Um, well, except you, of course.”

“Laura,” Myka rounded the corner, slightly out of breath, very much out of nerves. “Please, I... could you please, please, please read Livia’s good night story tonight? I wouldn’t ask this of you any other day, but-”

But Livia was sick, with a nasty, persistent cold. They all knew it. Laura hesitated, and Claudia could see the dread in the other woman’s gray eyes. Livia wasn’t a shy kid, once she got to know a new person. So, sure, she and Laura had changed words on a few occasions, passed food at mealtimes and suchlike. Reading a book, though...

“I... Laura, I totally understand if this is too much,” Myka said intently, hand swiping back hair from her forehead. “I’ve tried, I really have tried, to persuade her to let me read a different book to her, but-”

“No, I’ll do it,” Laura said, nodding softly. “Poor kid is ill. I understand. It’ll be okay,” she tried to reassure Myka, but Claudia could see the tenseness in Laura’s jaw. “Really,” Laura insisted, “I will be okay.” She smiled, a brave little soldier of a smile that did little to convince anyone. When Laura set out towards the stairs, though, her steps were sure and her back was straight. 

“Well then.” Claudia shot Myka an impressed look. “Seems you lucked out, Myka.”

Myka nodded and hurried after the smaller woman.

* * *

“Hey, munchkin,” Myka called out softly when she entered the room ahead of Laura. “I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?” 

Livia was sitting on her bed, still wordlessly crying, but when Myka repeated her question, she calmed a little, sniffled, and finally nodded sullenly. 

Myka sat down on the kid’s bed. “Laura has volunteered to read Pooh-Bear’s story to you if you’d like. She knows German, just like Artie and Helena do. So she can do this chapter tonight, and tomorrow, Helena will do the next. Okay?”

Livia had perked up a little while Myka was talking. “You know German?” she asked, eyes on Laura who was standing at the foot of the bed. 

“I am German, actually,” Laura volunteered, taking a step closer. “That’s why I say things wrong sometimes.” Myka was pretty certain that this was the most that Laura and Livia had spoken with each other under this roof.

“That’s okay,” Livia said magnanimously. “I did that too, when I was smaller. Do you know my Mami, then?” she asked, with the utter conviction of a child who was sure that everyone who shared a trait, in this case being German, knew one another.

Myka’s breath caught in her throat, and she could see the question impact on Laura in the way her gray eyes widened slightly. 

“A bit,” Laura croaked. “Yeah, I know her a little bit,” she repeated, in a clearer voice, and Myka breathed out softly. Laura’s eyes flickered over to where Myka said, flashing her a look of reassurance, clearly reminding Myka of the conversation they’d had six days ago, before Laura joined the Warehouse team. 

“Do you know why she went away from me?” Livia asked, her face still wet with the remains of a sick, tired, five-year-old’s temper tantrum, but her eyes alert and intent and insecure as Myka had never seen them before. When she saw the devastation that shone plainly on Laura’s face for a moment, she opened her mouth, but Laura’s raised hand and a quick smile forestalled her. 

“I know, yes, Livia,” Laura said softly. “May I sit down and tell you?”

The child nodded solemnly, her eyes never leaving Laura’s face. 

Laura sat down on the other side of the bed from Myka and looked at her hands for a moment, folded in her lap. Then she met Livia’s eyes again, and for a moment, Myka was struck by how similar they were – not in their looks; Livia clearly took more after her father. But in their expressions of pain and longing, it was plain that they were related. 

“A Mami’s job is to love her kid and look after her kid, right?” Laura began, and Livia nodded. “Now, earlier today, when Trailer needed to go out for...” Laura looked beseechingly at Myka.

“Walkies,” Myka supplied tersely.

“For walkies,” Laura repeated, “you didn’t go with him because you were too ill, right?” Livia nodded again, pouting a little. “Sometimes, even when you love someone very much, you cannot take care of them like you want to, because you’re ill.” Again, Livia nodded, and Myka breathed a little more freely. This seemed to be going in the right direction. “When you were born,” Laura continued, “your Mami was very, very ill. She knew she couldn’t take care of you, and it hurt her a lot, just like you didn’t like it when you couldn’t take care of Trailer.” 

Livia was spellbound, her eyes fixed on Laura’s face. “And she knew,” Laura went on, “that it wasn’t just a cold that would go away in a few days; she knew that she would be ill for a long, long time. So she asked someone else to find someone to take care of you while she worked on getting better. She knew that it wasn’t the best idea; she knew she should find someone herself, to take care of you, but she was too-” Laura’s voice broke, and Myka caught herself before she reached out and grasped the other woman’s hand. No touching, unless Laura asked. That had been one of the agreements. 

Laura cleared her throat. “Your Mami worked really hard at getting better, but it is a very bad illness, and it is still not gone. So she’s still working to get better.” Myka had no idea where Laura found the strength to smile at Livia, but smile she did. “She did find Helena and Myka to look after you for her. That was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Livia beamed and turned around to Myka, flopping over to lie in Myka’s lap. Myka’s hands immediately, automatically, landed on the kid’s shoulders and hair, and Myka’s eyes flew up to meet Laura’s, surprised to see an echo of her earlier smile still in them.

“Yeah,” Laura agreed softly. Then she poked at one of Livia’s hands, atop the comforter next to Laura’s thighs. “How about Pooh-Bear now? You ready?”

“Myka, can I stay with you and Helena?” Livia asked in a small voice. “When my Mami is better, will she come and...”

“Your Mami loves you so much, Livia,” Laura breathed through an obviously constricted throat. “She wants you to be happy. You’re happy right now, are you?” She smiled at Livia again, and again Myka marveled at her strength. “Apart from that cold, I mean.” Livia nodded, still frowning. “That’s the main thing,” Laura went on. “Your Mami would never do anything that would make you unhappy, I promise you that.”

Livia nodded again, accepting that promise without question. Then her eyes grew round, and she sat up and looked at Myka, tugging Myka’s sleeve. “Myka! Myka!!”

Myka laughed at the kid’s sudden excitement. She also used this opportunity to grab a wipe from the bedside table and begin washing tears and snot of Livia’s face. “Yes, munchkin?”

“My Mami could come live with us!” Livia exclaimed, beaming proudly at her idea. “There’s the empty room downstairs, and the new house soon, and she can be here with all of us! And we can help her get better; I don’t need the cough syrup, she can have it! Yes? Myka? Please?” 

Myka was grateful that cleaning Livia’s face gave her the opportunity to collect her thoughts a little. It also distracted Livia, and so the kid didn’t see the look that the two women exchanged, a look so bursting with all kinds of emotions that it was hard to believe it was just that – a look, silent, weightless, over in a heartbeat. 

“Well, we’d have to ask her, munchkin. And I’m not sure if cough syrup is the right medi-,”

“Oh! I know!” Livia interrupted. “We’ll write her a letter!” She turned to Laura. “You gotta-,”

“Hey _hey_ hey,” Myka sang softly. 

“Um, I mean, would you help us, please, Laura? Make the letter be German? Please?”

“Of course, Livia,” Laura replied gravely. “I will do what I can to help.”

“Thank you!” And Livia pulled herself up from Myka’s lap, scooted over to where Laura sat, and hugged her. 

Myka watched Laura’s eyes flutter shut, but not before she’d caught a glimpse of the turmoil they showed. She wondered if their lives would ever get any easier, for any of them. And then Laura’s eyes opened again, shining with wonder and love and unshed tears, and Myka realized that for the first time in both their lives, Laura Sperling was holding a daughter she hadn’t held since birth, finally free to express her love, finally free to feel nothing but small arms around her neck, and Myka decided that maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Not easy, certainly. But not bad either.

* * *

“Thank you so, so much, Laura,” she told the dark-haired woman as she rejoined her and Claudia in the living room after Livia had fallen asleep. “That can’t have been easy.”

Laura’s smile was a bit lopsided, but sincere. “Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I knew that things like this would happen sooner or later when I stay here.” She dipped her head, looking at her interlocked hands. “I tell myself it’s good, being with her like this. The best I can hope for. Even when it’s hard.”

Myka sat down next to her on the sofa, keeping ample space between them – no touching, obviously, also meant ‘keep a good amount of distance so that there won’t be accidental touches.’ “How’s that working out for you, Laura?” she asked. “Are you okay – really okay?”

She saw Laura’s nose flare with a deep inhale. Eyes still fixed on her fingers, Laura replied, “as much as I can be, I would say.” Her mouth twitched bitterly. “It’s not like things would be better if I was back in Berlin, you know.” She looked up at Myka, and Myka could see that the bitterness extended to her eyes. “I thought that not having all those memories would help, you know. But it didn’t. I felt so…” she gestured vaguely, “um, lost? Yes? Not at home, not knowing who I am, who my friends are, why I have,” she gestured to her stomach, “um... thing... ah, pregnancy marks on here?”

Claudia whistled softly. “That sounds awful,” she said. 

Laura hung her head again. “Yes,” she nodded with a deep breath. “Awful.” She kept her silence for a moment, then continued. “And dangerous. Yes? Anyone could tell me anything, and I would believe them. She… um, Shelby. She said she knew more about my child, could show me, I just need to come to the US.” She looked up at Myka, and Myka thought that her gray eyes, so light usually, looked as dark as a thunderstorm over the Badlands. “I didn’t know they planned to… to use me, make me make other people do things that they wanted. I only knew she knew more about my baby. So of course I came. What else would I do?”

“Dude, anyone would have,” Claudia said, leaning forward in her chair to, Myka thought, show support in a non-physical-proximity way.

“Absolutely,” Myka agreed. “I mean, didn’t they give you any explanation as to what had happened to your memories?” She thought back to Emily Lake, sent to Wyoming under a false name, given a place to live with a cat and photos of a past that never existed. Old anger at the Regents raised its head once more. “Don’t tell me,” she growled. “They told you you had an accident.”

“Yeah,” Laura sighed. “Helena told me that they did that before, apparently.”

Myka grated her teeth. “Yeah. They did.”

“I really, really hope the Regents will clean up their act,” Claudia said darkly. “Sometimes they’re not any better than mustache-twirling villains, the way they treat people like player tokens on a D&D dungeon map.”

“This would be your chance to change that, then,” a new voice sounded. 

“Mrs. Frederic!” Myka exclaimed. Then she heard the door open, heard more feet than Helena’s and Artie’s return would account for, turned towards the door and saw-

“Oh, uh, hey, Jane, you’re here too!” Claudia gulped audibly. “And, um, hello Mr. Kosan, Ms. Clifford. If this is about the phones, I can expl-”

“This is not about phones, Agent Donovan,” Kosan said smoothly, stepping into the room. 

“If anything,” Clifford, a blonde woman around Jane’s age, of a slightly taller, more muscular build than Pete’s mom, picked up, “we have you to thank for alerting us to that and other weaknesses in our security measures. But that’s not what we’re here for tonight.”

Myka scooted over to the edge of the sofa, allowing Helena to sit between Laura and her – seeing as they knew each other longest, Laura was more at ease with Helena being close to her than with anyone else. Kosan, Clifford, and Jane took to the second sofa, while Claudia jumped to relinquish her seat to Mrs. Frederic, sinking down to the ground between the two couches. Artie carried over two chairs from the dining room and nudged Claudia’s shoulder a couple times, until they both were seated in those chairs.

“This looks serious,” Claudia tried to quip, but the quaver in her voice told Myka that the youngest agent was just as nervous as she herself was. 

“It is,” Mrs. Frederic nodded. “We have been taking your criticism to heart, Agent Donovan – yours and everyone else’s regarding Regent secrecy and behavior.”

“It was valid, too,” Jane added immediately, in an attempt to reassure that wasn’t quite successful. “There’s been awful behavior, some excusable, some not. And with the recent… upheaval-” she chose to ignore Claudia’s snort, which Myka was grateful for, “-we saw our chance to implement a few changes that I, for one, have been thinking about for a long time.”

“What you have to understand, agents,” Kosan said gravely, looking at all of them in turn, “is that for the Regents, the safety and secrecy of the Warehouse and the artifacts stored inside it is paramount. Anything, and I mean _anything_ , else is a secondary concern.”

“Yeah, I even understand that, I do,” Claudia interjected, “but, you know, there’re ways to get to that kind of safety, and some of them are more okay than others, is all I’m saying.” 

Myka inwardly cheered for Claudia, but kept quiet for now, wanting to get an idea of the Regents’ plans first. 

It was Jane who replied to Claudia’s words first. “I agree. We didn’t exactly cover ourselves in glory these past few months, and I, personally, am sick to my stomach about some of the things we did. That two of us wanted to use artifacts, use a _person_ ,” she shot Laura an apologetic glance, “for personal gain is… simply unconscionable.” She sat forwards some more, propping her elbows up on her knees, hands outstretched towards Claudia. “What we’re going to change doesn’t only cover how we choose new Regents or how many of them. We want to lay down a code of conduct, rules not just for safety and secrecy, but for ethics, that will help determine what we should or shouldn’t do in the name of said safety and secrecy.” She turned towards Helena and Laura. “For example, when it comes to the psychological ramifications of involving someone in Warehouse business or the emotional health of our agents.”

Mrs. Frederic nodded. “I also suggested closer interaction between Regents and Agents, and accountability not just from Agents to Regents, but in the other direction as well.”

Kosan cleared his throat. “Regent accountability, as well as Regent appointment, has always been an internal Regent matter,” he said. “I agree that the events of the past year have shown that this state of affairs bears risks that can overcome its benefits.”

“So what’ve you come up with?” Claudia asked, scowling at Kosan, Clifford, and Jane in turn. 

“We haven’t, not yet,” Clifford replied evenly. “I suggested that this shouldn’t be something we do behind closed doors again, but that we should involve you in the process. Just like my officers, you agents are out on the front lines. I can speak for them, but someone needs to speak for you, too.”

In the silence that accompanied her statement, Jane smiled and turned towards Laura and Helena again. “And we would like to ask you, Helena, as well as Artie, to provide this voice.” The corners of her mouth dropped, as did her shoulders. “Back in your time, your Regents failed you, Helena. In this time, we failed you again when we didn’t recognize what you needed when you needed it – Yellowstone is as much on Regent heads as it is on yours, the way I see it.” She leaned forwards, eyes gentle. “There will be no more Bronzing, I can promise you that. For anyone, for any reason. We don’t have a solution yet for the people who are currently Bronzed, and that’s something else I’d like your input on. But no more Bronzing; that crap is over. I absolutely understand if you have bad feelings towards us, but hope you can set them aside and help us improve what we do.” She smiled at Helena, a small, hopeful, timid smile. “Think about it, okay?”

“Ms. Sperling, we’d also like to ask you to join the number of Regents,” Kosan added his voice to the stunned silence. “Our council is not restricted to American citizens, and we would value your input as someone who has grown up in a culture that, while certainly different from the American culture, is nevertheless well-grounded in the values of democracy and human rights.” 

Jane rolled her eyes. “Adwin, slow down. Put it more understandably, okay?” She turned her attention to Laura. “‘Human dignity is inviolable,’” she said slowly. “That’s the highest value of the German constitution, isn’t it? Of your, uh, Grundgesetz?” 

“Oh!” Laura exclaimed. “Oh, um, yeah. Yes. It’s important,” she added, nodding solemnly. “One of my most important, uh…” she tapped on her phone, looking for a word, then met Jane’s eyes again, “values. Yes.” She smiled suddenly. “It’s why I like Star Trek so much better than Star Wars.”

Jane grinned. “Gotcha. I mean, I understand.”

“The Warehouse,” Kosan went on, “is not a democracy, of course. But we can only benefit, I think, from more transparency and an ethical code of conduct.” He sat up straighter, already half out of his chair. “In the spirit of what Jane outlined, these are offers, and we would like you to discuss them. You’re free to decline without any negative consequences; free to offer any other ideas your discussion yields, as well.”

“In much the same vein, Claudia,” Mrs. Frederic added, “we’d welcome any input you have about the role of Caretaker, as we’d like input from Ms. Cho on the role of Keeper.”

“So, basically, everything is on the table?” Myka asked, feeling out the scope of what was on offer here.

“Under the tenets of safety and secrecy,” Kosan reminded her. “Other than that, yes; we are willing to discuss a great many procedures and rules, with the intent to improve everyone’s duties and service.”

“Wow,” Claudia breathed. Artie patted her knee gently. “This is… this is a lot.”

“And that’s why we’re not here for immediate answers,” Jane replied. “As Adwvin said, these are suggestions from us, ideas for how we want to change. Think about them, talk them over, let us know. You’ve got our numbers, after all,” she winked at Claudia, who blushed fiercely.


	11. Chapter 11 (September 19, 2013)

“Hey Mykes,” Pete called out from behind her as he stepped through the living room door. She heard his steps come closer, then the couch cushions dipped as he sat down next to her. They looked into the fireplace together for what seems like the longest time. Myka couldn’t sleep because jet lag, courtesy of an artifact retrieval in Poland, was always something that bothered her more than it did Helena. After years of sleeping badly, and now, almost a year of mostly sharing a bed with Myka, Helena’s body had finally, finally found its way back to healthy sleeping habits, and was apparently still not done catching up. From someone who couldn’t sleep at all to someone who could, more or less, sleep at will – Myka envied her, on nights like this. Nights when she had, at two in the morning, wandered down to the living room to see if counting sparks instead of sheep would help. 

“Did I wake you up?” she asked Pete after a while.

“Nah, just… couldn’t sleep,” he replied, and that was unusual enough that she looked at him with a tilted head that invited more but also offered silent understanding. 

His eyes stayed fixed on the fireplace, but his mouth tried to shape words, so she stayed quiet, letting him work out what he wanted to say. 

“Did you know Laura is into classical music in a big way?” he finally asked. Myka gave a surprised shake of her head, and Pete nods. “She is. She also has trouble sleeping a lot of the time, and when it’s particularly bad, she heads out to the shed and listens to music.”

“Which you know about how?” Myka asked, eyebrow raised.

“I followed her. Wasn’t sure if she was sleepwalking, wanted to make sure she was okay. And,” he turned to Myka, and she smiled at the look on his face. This was a side of Pete people didn’t often see. The caring friend; sensitive, even though he would protest this choice of adjective. “And she was… I mean, wow. She has this piece that she listens to, big orchestra, solo string instrument, lots of emotions, and Myka, she just _jumps_ into them. To the point where she’ll smile, or laugh, or,” his voice grew soft, “or even cry, just from the music. I guess she’s doing it to forget about her own emotions? For a while?” He looked down at where his hands were buried in the pockets of his hoodie, as if a little ashamed by his own emotions, and Myka stopped hugging her knees and scooted closer to him. “Does that make sense?” He looked up at her again.

“It does, yeah,” Myka replied with a smile. “That happened more than once, didn’t it? You following her?”

“Yeah,” Pete replied with a sigh, looking into the flames again. “Often enough that I know which piece this is. Dvorak’s Cello Concerto.” Myka nodded; her mother had liked it, too. “Y’know, I’m beginning to understand why people like that stuff,” Pete continued, with a small, chuckling snort. “It’s like, they’re apart, the cello is right here in front,” one hand came out of its pocket to gesture in front of him, “not even looking, and it’s in so much pain, you can hear that in the music, pain and aching and so much of it that it’s all scratchy and ‘stay away from me,’ you know?” Myka smiled at his ‘comic hermit’ interpretation, but he was already going on, oblivious to her amusement. “And the orchestra is like, ‘hey, man, we’re there, we got you, you don’t have to hurt so much,’ but the cello doesn’t hear ‘em, it’s in too much pain to pay attention. And then in the second piece, the pain’s still there, but maybe a bit less, maybe it got used to it, and it notices the other instruments, and they’re like, ‘hey dude, are you still there, you okay, man, we’re still there for you, y’know, we love you.’ And the cello answers, ‘I’m getting there, but man, it hurts and I love you, too, and I wish I was right beside you for a hug but I can’t even turn around to look at you but here’s my music instead… because sound travels, right? And my music will be with you, the way I wish I could be.’ And they understand that that’s what they can do, so that’s what they do. They don’t need to see each other, they don’t need to even look at each other, they’ve found a way to be together regardless.”

Myka turned to him slowly, eyes round. “Wow. Pete-,” she reached out a hand to him, let it fall to the couch again. “Just, wow.”

He turned to her and grinned. “Who’da thunk it, eh?” His two thumbs point at his chest. “Pete Lattimer, classical music understander. You never know, I’ll be a ballet commentator next.” 

“Is Laura into that, too?” Myka asked, teasing just a little to cover her amazement. 

“Oh god, I hope not,” Pete replied immediately, then realized what he just said, and buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“You’re falling in love, partner,” Myka said softly. “Aren’t you.” Small wonder, too, she thought. Not only was Laura Sperling, free from the burden of her artifact and slowly coming into her own at the B&B, an actually likeable and friendly person – Myka had been shocked when she’d heard Laura laugh the dirtiest laugh she’d ever heard from a person, and that included Pete – but Laura also did have a lot of things in common with Pete. She had proven very adept at video games, explaining that she’d often had a lot of time to kill, and video games didn’t remind her of her problems. Her cooking was definitely more than acceptable, and even though she stayed away from pie at his request, her cake baking skills definitely made up for that. She would even engage in eating competitions with Pete – heck, she would _win_ them, Myka remembered with a slight hint of schadenfreude. And if Laura wasn’t into comic books much, well, Myka guessed, people didn’t need to be perfect matches for each other in order to make a relationship work, did they?

“She touches her phone, Myka,” he told his hands, then looked up at Myka, his eyes questioning. “When it plays music. When the music is sad, or elevating, or chaotic. She’ll touch it like… like she wants to soothe it, just tell it she’s there, shhh, it’s okay, she’s there. And then I want to take her hand, to just tell her that I’m there, that she’s not alone anymore, that she can touch people without burning up in them, without it tearing her heart apart.” Pete clenched his teeth and turned to look at the fire again. “Artifacts really have a way of messing with people sometimes.” He flopped his head against the backrest and turned to look at Myka. “She’s so alone, Myka,” he said softly. “She’s so, so alone.”

Myka was astonished to see the pleading in his eyes. “And then I think,” he went on, “what if this messes things up?” He turned his upper body fully towards her. “I mean, even if I don’t mess things up with Laura, what if me _being_ with her messes things up, you know what I mean? Myka, this thing we have here, all of us,” one arm gestured towards the rest of the B &B, “this is _good_. It works. I mean, yes, she feels, but we’re, I mean we all are, working on that, too And you guys have a really good grip on that whole ‘birth mother foster mothers under the same roof’ thing, and…” his voice dropped away.

Myka nodded slowly. “And you don’t want to shake things up.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Pete nodded. “Dude, this is the freaking _Warehouse_ , where we deal with things that shake up the whole freaking _world_ on a daily basis, and if there’s anything we don’t need here at home, it’s more shaking.” He ran his hands over his face. “Plus, I don’t even know if … I mean, even if she likes me or whatever, she’s not in a good place yet, so I can’t go and, I don’t know, make a move on her or anything.” He looked at Myka again. “You know what I mean?”

At that, Myka laughed softly. “I do know a thing or two about loving someone who is not in a good place, yes,” she explained.

“Oh. Ohhh...” Pete grinned ruefully. “I guess you do, partner.” He scratched his ear. “So, uh... any pointers?”

“Just… just be a friend to her,” Myka said immediately. “Part of loving someone is that you want them to be happy, or at least help them get there, right?” Seeing Pete’s nod, she continued, “So ask yourself, what does she need right now? Also,” and now it was her turn to grin ruefully, “also don’t forget what _you_ need, you know? I mean, back when Helena... and then I...” 

Pete nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I gotcha, Mykes.” He bumped her shoulder with his. 

“Yeah,” Myka nodded, glad that they didn’t even have to mention specifics anymore to understand each other. She bumped his shoulder back. “You’re pretty good relationship material, Lattimer,” she told him. 

“Don’t let your wife hear you,” he implored. “Knowing her, _I’d_ be in trouble, not you.”

Myka snorted. “I don’t think she sees you as a threat, you know.”

“Yeah...” Pete nodded, “I get it. I’m a bit short in the boobies department,” his hands made melon-shaped gestures in front of his chest. “I mean, I’m good at the guns,” he flexed his arms, “and at the manly chin,” he stroked his day-long stubble, “but that’s not so much what you’re into, I guess.”

“No offense, Pete, but I think I’m absolutely over the stubble,” Myka gave a mock shudder, then grinned at him.

“Oooooo! Are you saying British lady parts are clean-sha-,” Pete started in a sing-song.

“Pete!!” Myka hissed, punching his arm. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “Come on, you know I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?”

Myka rolled her eyes. “You know, the most annoying thing is, you’re right.”

He pointed his two forefingers at her. “Hey _hey_ hey,” he intoned, then pulled his hands back when Myka swatted at them playfully. “So,” he said, growing serious again. “Be a friend, huh?”

Myka nodded, smiling at him. “Yup. You’re good at that. Like, really good.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “I guess I am,” he said with a sigh. “And keep my own needs in mind,” he added.

“Exactly,” Myka replied. “Also, next time you take Livia up to the roof to show her the constellations? Ask Laura if she wants to come, too.”

“Awesome idea, Mykes,” Pete breathed. “So she can get used to spending time with me. Get to know Pete, the Friendmeister. Hey, it’ll be cold, and I can bring a blanket and give it to her. And Livia, of course,” he added quickly. 

“You’d be in deep, _deep_ doo-doo if you let the kid get cold, Pete. Friendmeister or no,” Myka growled. It was just as much of an act as his shrinking away from her was, but that was okay; that was their friendship. Pete _was_ the Friendmeister, and Myka would forever be grateful for that. 

“So what about you, Mykes?” Pete asked after a moment’s silence. 

“Am I cold?” Myka asked, frowning in confusion.

Pete laughed. “Nah. I mean, are _you_ okay? Is Laura living here working for you?”

Myka inhaled deeply, taking a moment to think about the matter. It helped that she and Helena, and the two of them and Laura, and the three of them and Abigail, had already talked about the topic. Putting into words how she felt about it was nothing too new; only the addressee was. “Yeah.” She smiled at Pete, again grateful for his friendship. “Yeah, it does. I’m glad Laura has the opportunity to get better, and to be around her child.”

“So you aren’t jealous?”

“You know, I thought maybe I would be?” Myka confessed, running a hand through her hair. “Or, I don’t know, threatened or something? I really worried about it. And yeah, there are moments.” She grinned ruefully. “I mean, when you foster a child, it’s always a possibility that the child will return to their birth parent, or parents. You know that going in. Sure, when we all thought Laura was in Germany, it seemed remote at best, but…” she shrugged, sure that he understood.

“But we’re Warehouse agents,” Pete agreed. “Anything can happen.”

“Exactly.” Myka counted a few more sparks when a log disintegrated into cinders. “We even talked about adoption back then, Helena and I,” she said suddenly, quietly. 

Pete turned to her, slack-jawed. “Wow,” he said after a long moment of silence.

Myka smiled at him. “Right?”

“Wow,” Pete repeated. “I mean… but that’s off the table now, I guess?”

Myka sighed, growing serious. “Not completely. Laura is finding it hard to see herself as Livia’s mother. She thinks she’s not good enough, that she failed her, that she can’t ever be forgiven for giving Livia up.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Myka sighed again, “sounds familiar in a way, doesn’t it.” She knew even now that Helena hadn’t quite internalized that she wasn’t, had never been, responsible for Christina’s death. She knew that Helena still had nightmares, both sleeping and waking ones, about failing her loved ones with catastrophic results –any one of them. She didn’t know if Laura had nightmares as well, but she suspected as much.

“Oh!” Pete’s eyes grew round. “It does – jeez, Myka. Another one, huh?” He put one arm around Myka’s shoulders and squeezed, then leaned back again. “Gotta be kinda rough on ya, right?”

“A bit,” Myka confessed. “I mean it helps that Helena and I are over… well, _mostly_ over all that bullshit,” she continued. “And it really, really helps that Abigail is okay with counseling us. I mean, it’s not exactly artifact fallout that she’s helping us deal with, but I have no idea where we’d be if we didn’t have her help.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah, she’s really awesome, isn’t she.”

“Yeah,” Myka agreed fervently. “I mean, this job? When we started, it was… I mean, I always knew I wanted to be good at what I did. Wanted to get ahead, get promoted, have my work be recognized, you know?”

Pete laughed. “Um, yeah? I’d heard of you even before we met, Bering. Course I know.”

“Right,” Myka grinned. “Once I had decided that it was okay to be a Warehouse agent, this job grabbed me so deeply, so much more than being a Secret Service agent did. I mean, there’s a reason I’m calling this, you, all of you, my family.”

“Yeah, that job-life boundary is really pretty non-existent, isn’t it,” Pete sighed. 

Myka nodded. “I mean, it was okay for a while, you know?”

“While you weren’t trying to have a life beyond the job, you mean,” Pete agreed. When Myka looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “There’s a reason I haven’t been dating, Myka,” he explained. “After Kelly left, I seriously wondered, you know? How anyone can be an agent and have a family outside of that? I mean, even if your wife is your one, even if she knows about the whole thing, even if you don’t have kids that you gotta lie to about it, how would… how would the logistics even work out, for starters? Would you still live here at the B&B? Both of you? Only one? Would you live in Univille, or commute to work, or what? I mean it’s difficult enough for Secret Service people, but I find it seriously almost impossible to imagine a Warehouse agent with a normal life, you know?”

Myka closed her mouth with a snap. Of course he was right, and of course he wasn’t dating, and of course he was wondering. She frowned. “Have you talked with your mom about this? I mean, she is a Regent, right? And she, they, did say they wanted to change things. Did your father…” her voice trailed away.

He grinned ruefully. “I did try to talk with her, yeah, but she got all ‘grandchildren, my son’ on me instead, so I dropped it.”

“I’m sorry,” Myka offered, and Pete threw her a brief smile. 

“Thanks, Mykes.” He scratched his nose. “It’s good that we’re getting more agents,” he said after a while. “Remember the office back in the 60s? How many agents were in there? I’m glad we’re coming back to that.”

“Oh, totally,” Myka agreed. “I mean, how many days of vacation have you taken since we started here?” Pete made a squelchy noise with his mouth, and she repeated it. “Right? So, yeah, going back to having a dozen or so agents will hopefully help with the work-life balance. I mean it’s great that Artie’s so good about having either Helena or me here at home at all times, but it can’t be easy for him to juggle all of us so that we still cover the most important pings.”

“Especially now that Claudia is combing Twitter and Facebook and stuff for mentions of artifact-y shenanigans,” Pete nodded. “We’re getting pings by the bucket-load these days. I guess that helped when he argued with the Regents.”

“That, and the recent catastrophe,” Myka added.

“Yup,” Pete breathed out. “Nice hook for winning over the Regents for a re-structuring, that was.”

“If anything,” Myka agreed. “I like that your mom is taking charge of that, by the way.” She threw him a crooked smile. “She’s got her head on straight, your mom. I trust her.”

“Thanks,” he grinned back. “Me too.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “So, you ready for the next big changes?” He gestured towards the back of the house, where the annex was almost finished. “New agents coming in day after tomorrow, you and Helena and Livia moving into a family home?”

“I guess,” Myka replied, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Well, I’m looking forward to sleep without ear plugs again,” he teased, not even flinching when Myka punched him. “Hey _hey_ hey,” he sang out, “you know I’m joking, right? I’m gonna miss you.”

“Pete, I’ll be right next door,” Myka protested, then tilted her head. “But that’s not what you mean, is it.”

He sighed. “Ehh, it’ll be okay,” he said. “I… it’s just… don’t you sometimes miss it when it was just the two of us?”

“You mean when we were bickering 24/7?” Myka laughed, and poked him, “when I punched you even more often, because you were the only one around to punch?” 

“You know what I mean, Mykes,” he said seriously.

Myka’s smile faded, and she sighed. “Yeah, I do,” she said. “But Pete, life changes every day, and yes, those times were mostly great, and sometimes not great at all, but yeah, I did like suddenly having the best kind of brother.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “But I also like where I’m now, y’know. And, hey, Pete?” She waited until he looked at her. “I know change is difficult for you when it comes to private things, family, stuff like that.” Pete almost looked away, so she put her hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. “But you’re also really good at rolling with the punches, remember?” She grinned at him, wondering if he still sometimes thought about their very first mission for the Warehouse. “Seriously, I _will_ be only next door, and we _will_ still be partners, and I _promise_ , Pete, I swear to God, I will keep punching you until my dying day.”

It didn’t surprise her one bit when he turned towards her and caught her in a Pete-hug. She squeezed back hard, trying to convey with her arms that she’d always be there for him, no matter what.


	12. Chapter 12 (September 20, 2013)

Their family’s move to the new annex had been surprisingly drawn out, especially given how tired Myka felt. Everyone had constantly teased and joked about how much two women and a five-year-old girl could possibly own, could possibly have bought (‘hoarded’ was the word Pete used, and imitated a fire-breathing dragon to Livia’s squealing delight), could possibly need to have carried over to their new apartment. 

The annex was built in the same style as the original B&B, even painted the same color. The modernized appliances were an improvement, however; Myka had insisted on that. No more waiting under, or next to, two minutes of cold water in the shower until the boiler caught on. No more doubled blankets and space heaters in winter. Claudia was already making plans for updating the original building after the annex was done, spurred by the wires and listening devices that had to be removed, and by Laura Sperling who, to everyone’s surprise including her own, had found a talent for home improvement and indoor redecorations that rivalled Claudia’s and Helena’s prowess with all things electric and electronic. 

Thus, the Agent Gym in the original building had been converted into a DIY workshop (in which Laura was joined by Abigail every now and then, and sometimes by Steve on a quest for more wood to carve). The Gym’s workout gear and machinery had been moved to the basement of the annex, which boasted not only more reliable heating, but – Steve had insisted on that, and had found an ally in Artie – a sauna, to boot. The laundry room had also moved to the new building, since the up-to-date wiring there would allow the washer and dryer to run at the same time as the microwave in the kitchen. 

Two new agents, who for the past three days had been put up in one of the actual tourist accommodations Univille sported, would soon occupy what Myka thought of as her old room and Livia’s old room. Nichelle Garner, meticulous in the field and exuberant on all things Marvel and DC, had been welcomed as a ‘true nerd’ by both Claudia and Pete, especially when she’d revealed that she’d been named for the actress who’d portrayed Star Trek’s Uhura. Diego Reyes Morales had a quick mind and an uncanny knack for jumping to the right conclusions, and faced the endless wonder he was encountering with an equanimity that had earned him the nickname of “second Steve.” Both had joined the Warehouse team through the Secret Service – Claudia had revealed one day that she, together with Mrs. Frederic and Abigail, had devised several questions that they’d put in agent evaluation and self-evaluation forms, and that, when filled out in certain ways, would alert them to agents who fit the bill for possible Warehouse service. 

Helena’s birthday was tomorrow and, barely two weeks after that, their one-year anniversary of taking in Livia as a foster child. Myka had already bought what she wanted to give Helena, weeks ago – first, a mandolin slicer for Helena’s ever-growing kitchen adventures. It wasn’t that Helena’s knife skills were bad – they were worryingly good, in fact. It was more that Helena was too impatient for julienning and had, one day, expressed a wish for a way to simplify that specific kitchen task. Much to Myka’s shock, Helena had then _not_ gone off to build something straight away, but had actually finished cooking the meal. And so Myka had bought the mandolin as a reward.

Next, a moderate stack of books (they had promised each other to not give more than five books at a time, if only to stop their friends from teasing), and, last but not least, a set of three framed photos, one of Helena with Myka, one of Helena with Livia, and one from an excursion that their whole peculiar little family, including its newest two members, had made to the South Dakota State Fair a week ago, featuring all of them holding a different item of fried food. They hadn’t won the contest of ‘weirdest family photo’, but the picture was a treasured prize for all of them. Myka knew for a fact that Claudia had a print in her room, and that Pete had even given one to Jane – framed. 

Pete hadn’t ‘made a move’ on Laura yet, but he had been spending time with her. Myka smiled as she contemplated how he had, one night in mid-August, invited Laura to the rooftop to stargaze with him and Livia, promising them shooting stars and wishes come true. From what Pete had told Myka, there hadn’t just been blankets, but an actual instance of Laura leaning against him and taking his hand in excitement when she’d actually seen a shooting star. If Myka was certain of anything, it was that Pete would be careful and mindful in figuring out how to best go forward in order to not mess things up. 

Contemplating the presents stacked in front of her, Myka decided that the packing-paper like wrapping paper would do nicely. Helena, after her surprise about Myka’s planning in April, had asked to be the one to plan for their one-year anniversary, and had also asked that they implement a ‘no gifts for anniversaries’ policy, seeing as it was so close to her birthday. ‘I propose that our only gift to each other should be time spent together with no distractions,’ she’d said in that distracting voice of hers, that voice that could propose _anything_ and Myka would agree.

Myka shook her head in wonder. _If anyone had told me I’d be moving into a family apartment with Helena Mysterious Middle Initial Wells and our foster daughter, while the biological mother was living next door and being gently wooed by my partner_ … she shook her head again. She put the box with the mandolin next to the stack of books, and then grabbed the set of picture frames, running her finger over the simple wooden planes. The panorama-sized family picture was framed by two upright photos, and her gaze lingered first on the picture of Helena and Livia, faces lit by sunshine, bent in intense fascination over a sprouting plant, a copy of which would live on Myka’s nightstand after Helena had received this present. 

Then it came to rest on the picture of Helena and herself, a rare capture that Abigail had snagged, of a moment on the patio behind the B&B, when Helena had told Myka of an artifact retrieval in Victorian London. It had been a silly artifact, and a light-hearted story, presented by Helena with such pizzazz and verve that Myka had been laughing tears, and Helena herself had fought to keep a straight face, and Abigail had caught just the moment in which Helena had burst out laughing, joining Myka in merriment. 

Myka knew the life of a Warehouse agent was no walk in the park. Neither was the life of a foster mother, nor the life of someone in a sometimes challenging relationship. But there were moments, and lately much, much more than mere moments, when she knew exactly why this was the right thing for her, the Warehouse, her Warehouse family, Livia – Helena. Myka Bering was home, and loved, and in love. She wouldn’t mind living like this ever after, wouldn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voilà, the end. This piece concludes this specific bit of Canon Divergence. Thanks for coming along, I hope you enjoyed the ride! 
> 
> (I'm working on more stuff. W13, timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly, Canon-Divergence-y stuff. So stay tuned!)


End file.
